


Unravel Me

by LadyLacerta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hook-Up, Post-Hogwarts, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-11-12 10:19:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 27,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18009098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLacerta/pseuds/LadyLacerta
Summary: Hermione Granger, 27, was the most discussed bachelorette of the wizardry community in the United Kingdom. She was in no rush to settle down just yet, not with so much to be accomplished with her career. It was her work in the Law Enforcement department which made her path cross with Severus Snape again, nearly a decade after the end of the war.She thought she knew everything there was to know about him, yet his secrets ran much deeper than what she or anyone could have imagined.





	1. Prologue

If Hermione had known how the night was going to turn out, she would have shaved.

Or maybe, she wouldn’t.

The pair of hands that slid up her sides, underneath the dress, to slowly pull down the pantyhose didn’t seem to mind the hair on her legs when they caressed her naked thighs, or even when the fingertips found their way around the underwear to caress her clit in slow, circular motions.

Hermione went down the kitchen counter top, to the floor, so the touch could reach her better. A pair of lips landed on her neck and stayed there as the hand kept its rhythm. Her breath became more and more difficult, her muscles clenching as the pleasure built up. Her fingertips dug into clothed shoulder blades.

Then the pleasure reached its peak, and Hermione went limp: the only thing stopping her from sliding to the floor was the body pressed against hers.

She held back a surprised yelp when a finger slipped inside her. And a second one, in patient thrusts.

“Where is the bedroom?”

With that, Hermione opened her eyes, as if coming out of a trance.

Was she really going to hook up with Snape, right after a Ministry function?

Well…

Yes.

And she wasn’t too surprised he wanted her, either. He had a type, didn’t he?

Maybe Hermione wasn’t white or had red hair, but she _was_ a muggleborn Gryffindor.


	2. Chapter One

_Three months prior_

Hermione tried not to freak out when she was called to the office of Mr. Donovan, the head of the Law Enforcement department. The only options in her mind were of bad news. She straightened her shirt and skirt before knocking on the door softly and turning the knob.

“Did you get me, Mr. Donovan?”

He was short, stick-thin, with maybe five white hairs on his head. Probably the stress of working on Law Enforcement for so long. He gestured for Hermione to sit down, with a polite smile; he seemed worried, anxious.

“What’s happened?”

“Well, the Ministry got itself on a big problem. Shacklebolt is livid and he wants answers, fast. I’m borrowing you from the Magical Creatures division for a task force.”

Hermione tried not to look so relieved for not being called for something she did — or didn’t do, when she should have. Whatever happened in the past ten hours got Mr. Donovan into a twist.

“What for?”

He opened the drawer of his desk and placed a book in front of Hermione. It was black, hard-cover and leather-bound, decorated with silver snakes.

_Life of a Double Agent: The unauthorized biography of Severus Snape._

_By Rita Skeeter._

Shit.

“Someone leaked the files for his Wizengamot trials, the two of them. Someone from the Ministry. We are now aware Skeeter is an Animagus, and I assure you not even a bug could get into the archives without setting the traps or alarms off. Only the archivists could get it for her. Ever since we became aware of this when the shops opened earlier today, we detected large transactions on Skeeter’s vault six months ago. We are working under the assumption she bribed an employee to get the files for her.”

“So we need to catch this person as soon as possible.”

“Absolutely. For now, we can’t be certain all the information contained in this book is true, considering who wrote it. So first of all, we need someone to read it, compare to the trial files, and fact check. How much of this information could be available to someone who is simply a tenacious researcher? What could only be obtained on the files? Since you have met him more than most of us did, I’m assuming you’ll have an easier time with it.” A pause. “But first…”

“What do you want me to do?” Hermione said, swallowing dry.

“I want you to fact check with the source. He has been notified and should be coming up here after his shift. Do you think you can breeze through the reading until then?”

Like Hermione, Snape also worked at the Ministry. Department of Mysteries. She never saw him anywhere, not down there — in the couple of occasions she had to visit the department — nor in the entrance lobby. And most certainly not at the Ministry’s functions, the ones with the most high-profile employees, that she got to go ever since she was a rookie due to her fame.

It had been almost a decade since she last saw him.

She wasn’t _mad_ at what he said and did, not anymore. It was in the past, still she wouldn’t want to be in the same room as him again.

“I may not be the right person to deal with him. Maybe someone he doesn’t know personally will be a better pick.”

Mr. Donovan leaned back on his chair.

“I’d say quite the contrary. If I were him, I’d be intensely distraught that something like this happened. I’d be comforted by a known face.”

“He’s not a regular person like you and me, sir.” Hermione replied.

“Give it a try. If he doesn’t cooperate or is too upset to, then I’ll get someone else to go in and do it.”

Not a request she could really deny…

“Alright.”

“Good. I assigned an office in here for you. There is a folder with the trial files for you to compare. You can take the book home, if you’d like, but not the files. Though, like I said, the most urgent thing is for you to skim the book, so you have questions for when he comes.”

“Of course. Consider it done.”

In between sitting at her desk for the first that day and being called by Mr. Donovan, not even fifteen minutes have passed. She had about seven hours. The book was thick, perhaps six hundred pages long, but it should be doable if she didn’t take any breaks beyond bathroom ones.

“Call my assistant to get you food whenever you need it.”

“Thank you.” Hermione said, glad that he reminded she was a human being who needed to eat.

With that, he escorted her to a rather fancy office down the hallway from his. It was clearly meant for someone more relevant to the Law Enforcement department than her, however she’d need a comfortable armchair to spend seven hours reading…

And then having to interview Snape.

She didn’t think Mr. Donovan was right about the known face thing. At least Snape was no longer allowed to insult or yell at her. He may be a victim, but Hermione was a Law Enforcement officer on duty. He didn’t have the right to treat her like he did in the past.

A small comfort.

The summary of the book alone gave her a good enough clue of how distraught he’d be. There was a chapter in it, somewhat around the beginning, entitled _The Soon-To-Be Death Eater In Love… With a Mudblood?_

Then later, there was a chapter named _The Prophecy, Leaked_ , and the one right after it was called _Defecting For a Mudblood: Love or Obsession?_

Perhaps a more casual reader wouldn’t notice the choice of word. Mudblood. Rita Skeeter was a pureblood who may not find the word so offensive, however Hermione knew it had to be a reference.

These chapters had to be about Harry’s mother.

She thought it was a low blow of Skeeter to come up with a love story where there was none. Snape, in love with Harry’s mother?

What a joke.

Hermione went straight to these chapters, curious about what bullshit Skeeter was going to spin, though her face fell when she opened the trial files on Harry’s testimony, covering the memories Snape had given to him during the battle, after Nagini’s attack.

A quick skim told her the impossible:

Rita Skeeter was telling the truth.


	3. Chapter Two

The biography had to be the first of Rita Skeeter’s publications that was mostly true. The facts were dramatic by themselves, and so she did little but to transcribe the files, sometimes beat-by-beat.

The whole book was marked with post-its, as were the files: to signalize important events, correlate citations with parts of the trial, and other such things.

There was very little Hermione would have to ask Snape, in the end, though the subject at hand was a bit… Uncomfortable. All in all, the one big thing she had to inquire him about was: had he been truly obsessed with Lily Potter? Did he stalk her after they parted ways, as Skeeter implied?

Mr. Donovan wanted to be thorough and that biography could charge Skeeter with various crimes, slander being one of them.

Her greatest fear was to find out it was true.

With the book, files and her notepad under her arm, she opened the door to the interrogation room where he should be waiting for her. Seeing him after such a long time was a shock; moreso because he didn’t change a lot from what Hermione recalled.

He seemed to have grown older much more through the years where Hermione studied at Hogwarts, than ever since the war. The only big change was that his hair was salt-and-pepper, with generous grey streaks, rather than raven black — he was almost fifty years old, having all the hair still in his head and have it be the original color at the same time would be too much luck.

Even the robes were still solid black, very similar to the ones he used to wear.

His disposition didn’t change, either. When he saw Hermione sitting across the table from him, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and scowled, averting his gaze.

“Of course it would be you.”

“I did tell Mr. Donovan this was a poor idea.” Hermione said, nonchalant. “I can get someone else to do this right away, just say the word and I will be out of this room.”

Working for Law Enforcement for six years made her skilled at the art of dealing with difficult people. Though her division required interrogating more animals than actual people, she did her fair share of interrogations and handling upset human beings.

That moment, she wished she hadn’t learned so fast, because her observation disarmed Snape. He unfolded his arms and faced her.

“Why is it that I’m here? Am I not the victim in this?”

The interrogation room was an aseptic room with only a simple wooden table, two chairs, and very strong lighting that would make anyone feel uncomfortable. The walls were all of a cream color, no windows, no anything.

“Mr. Snape, you are here because we need to go through what is in this book with you. I can tell you right away most of what is here was taken almost word by word of the trial files. Still, of course Skeeter seemed to have added some… Information of her own. We’ll need to know what is fact and what is fiction to charge her for the correct crimes. This could get her for slander. Besides, it will be useful to know if what is here could be found somewhere else, since she could use that argument to defend herself.”

“Show me the book.”

Hermione slid the copy over the table to Snape, who now seemed willing to cooperate, and ran his eyes through the summary, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he read the chapter titles. They were very telling for someone who already knew what transpired.

His shoulders hunched as if he had been punched in the gut.

He jumped straight to the chapter wherein Skeeter theorized he kept tabs on Lily, watching her from afar.

“I didn’t do any of this.” he said, unknowingly cutting to the chase. “I wasn’t even in the United Kingdom during this year.”  

“Oh?”

“It may not seem like it, however it was not my entire life that was on trial. If Skeeter had bothered to do any research beyond the files, she’d know that.”

The words were cutting, though his tone of voice was… Relieved, almost. He was an active Death Eater during that time. Although the final trial of Wizengamot considered him not guilty of all crimes he may have committed during his time as a Death Eater, surely he benefited from the fact no one got too deep into the topic.

The only known fact was that he didn’t kill anyone, for Dumbledore was his first — and hopefully last — kill.

“Where were you? Do you have any proof of where you were and what you were doing during that time?”

“Italy, studying Potions. Nothing illegal, I assure you. I have letters and I rented an apartment during that time. I could get in touch with the landlord’s family, if needed be.”

“Okay.” Hermione said, now sounding relieved herself. “That would be helpful.”

It was already hard facing him, knowing what she knew. She didn’t fail to notice his initial plea to Dumbledore was to save only Lily. Not Harry. Not James. He did become a Death Eater and did leak the prophecy on his own accord.

Then again, from the words written, it seemed like he hadn’t even been aware she was married and had a baby. From what Hermione could tell, if he had known, he wouldn’t have gone to Voldemort with the prophecy.

But wasn’t the fact a family would be in grave danger not enough to stop him?

Hermione could tell the seriousness of what Skeeter had done. Despite his past deeds, Severus Snape paid his due. He deserved to live a normal life, and the only way was to have a clean slate.

Rita Skeeter made that impossible.

In the name of basic human decency, Hermione reached out to him and squeezed his arm. Not regular interrogation protocol, though it wasn’t a regular interrogation. And he seemed to be in pain.

Now she knew he wasn’t immune to tender feelings.

“I’m sorry this has happened. Most of the books have been seized by now and we’ll make sure to get all the copies burned down.”

“You don’t have to coddle me, Granger.” he said, though he sounded rather glad there was an attempt and waited a moment to escape from the touch, straightening his back. “I am not even sure starting a witch hunt for these books will do any good. Let it become old news.”

“I will speak to Mr. Donovan about that.” Hermione promised.

“Is that all?”

“I still need to know from you which information from here could be acquired from other sources other than the files. This might take a while. Do you want a cup of coffee, tea, water?”

Snape sighed, flipping through the six hundred pages written in a tiny calligraphy.

“Let’s just be done with this.”

Mr. Donovan was right about a known face dealing with Snape, after all.


	4. Chapter Three

Hermione wouldn’t see Snape for quite a while after that. Rita Skeeter knew it’d cause quite a ruckus and already had an air tight defense… Unless whoever got the files to her got caught and confessed.

She claimed exactly what Hermione thought she would: that she had researched the subject for almost a decade, ever since the war, that it must have been a strange coincidence… Of course, unless the problem was a Wizengamot trial kind of problem, quotes of the files could not be shared for comparison purposes.

Besides, Hermione had to admit simple comparisons were too circumstantial anyway. It didn’t count as solid evidence. She wasn’t ignorant to the fact sometimes the law unjustly condemned innocent people on the assumption that they must be guilty — she was Black, so she heard plenty of stories, on the news and even in her family.

Although she’d love to get Rita Skeeter, and so would all of the Law Enforcement department, they needed to come up with something better than comparing the files to the book.

Because it let a lot of room to wonder if Rita Skeeter was truly guilty, after all.

Except they soon reached a rut. In the meeting room that became the task force headquarters, cups of coffee, notes, quills and all assortment of office junk laid around on top of the oval table at its center. Mr. Donovan was leaned against the board with all the information pertaining to the case, and everyone else sat on their chairs, discouraged.

Hermione stared at the board, leaned all the way back on her chair, fingers entwined on top of her stomach. Of course it was just too big of a coincidence that six months ago Skeeter withdrew money from her vault, and handed over to a source that couldn’t be traced. The archivists were interrogated, and the operations in the Ministry’s archives were put on hold — a huge problem by itself.

The natural course of action, following the money, went nowhere. None of the archivists did transactions over the last six months that were unsourced and amounted to the grand total.

“Maybe the person who did it _isn’t_ one of the archivists. There is Polyjuice Potion, Imperius curse… Many ways to either pass as someone else or to get someone to do something for you without their awareness.” Suggested one of the officers.

Hermione had been very aware of that possibility since the beginning, however considering how much more difficult it’d be to catch Skeeter if that were true, she’d rather ignore it unless it was the last possible option.

She looked over the board again. Was anything still missing from it?

“We didn’t look at muggle banks.”

Mr. Donovan turned to Hermione.

“Excuse me?”

“Muggle banks. We only looked at Gringotts, but whoever got this money could have converted it to muggle currency and put in a muggle bank to escape detection. Because,” Hermione said. “Of course we’d only look at Gringotts first.”

She soon realized Voldemort was a symptom of the problem, not the cause. Maybe there was no longer a pureblood supremacy in place, however purebloods still made up for a huge majority of the most important Ministry’s ranks. The existence of the muggle world, and wizards who lived in it, was too often overlooked.

Hermione had a muggle bank account herself. She lived in the muggle part of London and wore muggle office clothes every day, sticking out like a sore thumb. She just thought wizard robes were too ridiculous. She couldn’t take herself seriously in them, outside of Hogwarts.

“Muggle police officers sometimes get authorization to see a person’s financial transactions if they have good reason to suspect something wrong is afoot. Perhaps we could do the same.”

Though she dreaded the possibility of the leak being muggleborn.

“I shall speak to Shacklebolt to arrange that.” Mr. Donovan relented, already heading to the door.

Things were smooth sailing after that. The leak, an indebted pureblood archivist, didn’t do much to hide his financial transactions in the muggle world. He caved pretty fast once there was evidence pining him as the person who sold the files to Skeeter.

His family had lost the fortune a generation before his own, and he thought he should have a more prestigious place in the wizardry community. And so he made a deal with Skeeter for a handsome amount of money, plus a meager cut in the book’s sales.

Skeeter and the archivist went on trial, considered guilty, however they didn’t go to Azkaban; they were set to pay huge fines to the Ministry and Snape, and do heavy community services. Due to Snape’s request, the only seized copies of the books were the ones that hadn’t been sold.

He was right: with the books quietly disappearing from the bookshelves, and people having the freedom to discuss the matter at exhaustion, soon it became old news. No one thought about him anymore, not even Hermione.  

The end.

Or so Hermione thought…

The whole fiasco happened somewhere around summer, and the months went by until summer became autumn. So it was about time for Mr. Donovan to throw one of his well-known parties, that happened religiously every three or so months.

He had a huge house, a beautiful wife, all of his children were grown and moved out of the country. Hermione had been invited to every single one of them, though she didn’t start showing up consistently until she realized networking was pretty much the key thing to move her ahead of her career in Law Enforcement.

Sure, she was a war hero, and a bit of a legend, however that counted more among the aurors. In Law Enforcement, things were more geared towards politics. Being a war hero had been just a generous kickstart for a muggleborn like her, who’d otherwise start without a name and no useful contacts.

And so Hermione straightened her well-behaved, yet form-fitting dress before knocking on Mr. Donovan’s magnificent front door; the house was moreso a manor built at the outskirts of a wizardry village. Pureblood money. Mr. Donovan’s wages weren’t enough to pay for something like that, and certainly not to pay the waiter that welcomed the guests, taking their coats and telling them to climb up the stairs in the two-story foyer.

The sound of chatter, and music seeped out of the grand sitting room, a huge space with great windows and a veranda overlooking the garden. The double doors on the room were open, and Hermione walked in, greeting whoever happened to be the closest with nods, handshakes and polite chit chat. Then her eyes went to the far side of the room, by the veranda, where Mr. Donovan, Shacklebolt and Snape talked to one another.  

Snape must have felt someone was watching him, for he turned his gaze away from the conversation. A quick glance, at first, then he did a double take when he recognized Hermione.

Now, that was a first.


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, peeps! I tend to reply to all comments, however I'm in a bit of a time crunch at uni (as always lmao) and for now I'm prioritizing updating as often as I can. I do read and appreciate all the comments, I just didn't have the opportunity to sit down and reply to them as they deserve! I'll get to it soon!

An unexpected rencounter with Snape became unavoidable as Mr. Donovan and Shacklebolt followed his gaze to Hermione, across the room. She had to speak to them, considering they were both her bosses, and she had a friendly relationship with them.

Snape, though…

What the hell was her relationship with him now?

 “Ah, Hermione!” called Mr. Donovan when she was within ear-shot. “I was waiting for you to tell Severus all about how you managed to solve the case.”

Good thing he seemed as awkward about it as she was, as she approached the small group certainly no one else dared to just walk up to in the middle of the conversation. He greeted her with a polite nod while Mr. Donovan shook her hand and Shacklebolt went as far as kissing it — the fact Hermione and Shacklebolt bonded over their ethnicity wasn’t a secret.

She thought she’d be her on guard, or be coldly polite, however it was too disarming to see Snape not knowing what to do with himself.

“I’m glad _someone_ has been giving me some credit around here.”

The credit went to Mr. Donovan, and not by his own fault, either. Not many people had the opportunity of hearing the story from his mouth, and since it was _his_ task force, and he was the head of the Law Enforcement department…

Knowing that, Mr. Donovan laughed, not slighted by the observation at all.

“Had it not been for you, I don’t think I’d manage to get Severus out of his exile, either. I’ve been trying to get him to come for years now. Thanks to you, he owed me one.”

Snape didn’t seem the type of person who’d be bound by meaningless things like gratitude, not at first, though Hermione knew better.

Was he grateful to her?

She turned to him to measure his reaction, and he gave her a resigned shrug.

_What can you do?_

Hermione returned it.

_Nothing, I suppose._

It was… Strange, to be able to think she knew him very well. His personality when he was genuine and not trying to survive as a double agent was still a bit of a mystery, but Hermione could take a good guess.

Shy, introverted. Didn’t like parties.

And the realization Hermione was an attractive woman hit him like a truck, probably.

She wasn’t daft. The double take, avoiding her gaze but keeping his eyes on her whenever she looked the other way, the nervous taps of fingertips on his glass, not being able to say a word to her? Being single and flirting about for so long made her well aware of the signs, even if the person wanted with his dear life not to see her that way.

Hermione could see why such a thing would happen. At twenty-seven, she never felt better about her appearance. It wasn’t even about looking better, but about being confident, although she _did_ look way nicer after starting wearing her tight coils with pride, for one.

And feeling more comfortable with showing her shape — if not her skin — did do wonders at drawing in that kind of attention. Sometimes it developed into something more, sometimes it didn’t.

As long as her boundaries were respected, Hermione found it flattering most of the times.

It was sweet to see Snape attempting to conceal it.

Because it’d be unwelcome…

Right?

“The muggle Prime Minister wasn’t happy to see the muggle world involved with wizardry affairs again, I’ll tell you that.” Shacklebolt said. “I’m glad we didn’t have to dig in too deep.”

Hermione had forgotten she was in the middle of a conversation.

“Like I said, he wasn’t too concerned with the possibility we’d think of looking into muggle banks. Besides, it’s so easy to look things up with computers instead of written files and documents.”

“Took us an _hour_ of work, can you believe that, Severus? I didn’t even know what a computer was last year!” Mr. Donovan exclaimed.

“Muggle technology has been advancing at a quicker pace than I can keep up with it.”, were Snape’s first words of the evening since Hermione’s arrival.

“We should really start using cellphones.” Hermione said. “Ever since I got one, it drives me insane to wait hours and days for letters to even arrive at the destination via owls. It doesn’t work where there’s too much magic, though I’m sure if muggles knew of magic, they’d come up with something that could work even in magical places like the Ministry.”

Shacklebolt sighed.

“That’s what my wife keeps telling me.”

His wife was muggleborn, too. His only son, now aged 5, was a squib.   

“And she’s right about it.” Hermione remarked. It’d be the time for her to have a sip of her drink — if she had minded to get one. “I should get myself something to drink.”

“Leave it to me.” Snape said, and before Hermione could even realize what had happened, he left.

She wasn’t sure if he was looking for an excuse to leave the conversation for a moment, or just wanted to do this one small favor, or both.

“Are you two in good terms now?” asked Shacklebolt.

Unlike Mr. Donovan, he was there in the thick of the war. He knew what Snape was like, back then.

“I think so. I managed to go over the whole entire book without him biting my head off.”

Shacklebolt nodded.

“He never said it outright, but I don’t think he meant most of what he did and said. Wouldn’t be safe for him if everyone thought he was a good guy. He had to convince Voldemort that he was loyal, somehow. But who knows. The kind of stress he was under…”

Hermione would like to hear him outright apologizing to her, though… Just pretending it didn’t happen wasn’t enough. She didn’t hate him anymore, but between that and liking him was still a long way to go.

Shacklebolt put the subject on hold with Snape’s return.  

“Thank you.” Hermione said with a sincere smile, taking her glass wine from him.

He cleared his throat and looked away, his neck growing a distinct shade of pink.

Did Hermione really not like him, after all?

She wasn’t too sure.


	6. Chapter Five

Shacklebolt was the first to leave the conversation, considering he was the Prime Minister and couldn’t stay the entire night talking to the same three people. Then, a waiter came up to Mr. Donovan to deliver him a message from his wife — a problem in the kitchen.

“Hermione, I trust you’ll keep Severus entertained,” said he. “Or at least don’t throw him to the wolves too soon, lest he’ll never come again.”

Hermione held back a smile. Everyone in the function wanted to have a chat with Snape, now that he finally showed up in society, however he didn’t know how to be a normal person Perhaps he never got to learn.

“I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“You keep saving my day, Hermione.” Were Mr. Donovan’s parting words, before Hermione saw herself alone with Snape in the veranda.

Though the salon was packed, people didn’t want to disrupt the conversation happening outside, so they didn’t walk out to appreciate the garden or the chilly autumn night weather. Hermione and Snape exchanged a glance.

“I don’t want to keep you from socializing with people no doubt more pleasant than me.”, he said, apologetic. “I’ll survive.”

She looked over the salon. Networking was a necessity, not a pleasure. Most guests were indeed very pleasant people, but Hermione didn’t have enough in common with them — aside from being an employee at the Ministry — to form meaningful connections and to want to speak to them without the obligation.

It was just another aspect of her work.

She snorted and took a sip of wine.

“And not have you to blame for not speaking to anyone tonight?”

Snape shook his head, one brow raised. He sighed, and then said:

“I can be the bad guy for one more night and monopolize your attention, if you’d like. I’ve done worse, as I am certain you know by now thanks to Skeeter. I simply assumed you’d rather gouge your eyes out with a fork than speak to me more than the necessary.”

That was the longest string of words he’d spoken that evening. And it was so like and unlike him, at the same time. All the bite and the irony, none of the desire to draw blood with his silver tongue. Well, the only blood dripping on the floor with his remarks was his own.

Hermione walked over to lean on the railing, and Snape followed suit.

“I don’t dislike you as much as you assume. An apology would be nice, but…” A pause. “I’ll take acting as if nothing happened.”

“I’m sorry.” he said, immediately. “Yet again I assumed the worst and thought you wouldn’t want any apologies from me.”

Hermione turned to him, chin propped on one hand. He was looking straight ahead, avoiding her gaze in shame.

“Was it all an act?”

“I’m afraid not. It wasn’t as deliberate as I would have liked to. But, yes, it suited my purposes well and because of that, I had no desire of perhaps seeking a better way to keep my cover and not abuse my own students at the same time. Not that, even now, I see anything else I could have done differently on that regard.”

“What are you even sorry about, then?”

He shook his head again, his gaze now on the garden below.

“I’m sorry that I was too weak to try finding better solutions. Or too blind. Either way, the result was the same.”

Hermione had the feeling it wasn’t just about the fact he had been a terribly abusive teacher. Perhaps it was about everything. A moment ago, she thought for sure she knew him like the palm of her hand, considering the recent events, and right then she felt she knew nothing at all.

“Well…” Hermione said, sardonic, to lighten up the mood. “I got the apology I dreamed about all these years, so I’m satisfied with that.”

Snape’s lips curled up in a close-lipped smile, and not a sneer, for the very first time.

Well, the first time Hermione was around to see it, anyway.

“Glad that I could grant you that wish tonight.”

That conversation cleared up the awkwardness between them. Snape knew Hermione didn’t want to gouge her eyes out with a fork, and she knew he wasn’t going to bite her head off. They were officially in good terms.

Hermione looked down, and said:

“Do you want to see the backyard?”

In spring and summer, it bloomed with all types of flowers, though in autumn it was still a beautiful sight, with the yellow leaves falling from the bushes and trees.

There was a path in it that lead to a gazebo beside an ancient oak tree at the fringes of the manor’s property. Mr. Donovan’s lands extended beyond, but the house garden itself only went as far as the oak tree, with a closed well beside it, a memory of a past without plumbing.

The manor was so well taken care of, it was hard to remember its age.

“I’d love to.”

Though the way out of the salon was slow: Hermione had to introduce Snape to basically every passing person, as courtesy demanded, and had to find a waiter so he could let Mr. Donovan know Hermione hadn’t left the function — with Snape in tow — and would be back in a moment.

Perhaps she knew exactly what she was doing by whisking him away, or perhaps it was a plan concocted by her subconscious. And maybe even Snape, timid as he was, had plans of his own to seize the moment.

Who knew.

“Mr. Donovan does the parties outside, sometimes.” Hermione said, her heels making clicking sounds against the rough stone path towards a fountain. It circled around and continued towards the gazebo, branching out to the small artificial pond, and the patch of grass with leaning chairs. Fairy lights lit up the way. “But right now is too cold, so…”

“Do you come to all of them?”

“Most recently, yes. Networking, you know. Law Enforcement has a lot to do with politics.” She went on, her legs taking her to the pond, with its water surface peppered with dead leaves. “And now I’m not too young to find them too dreadfully boring, so…”

Hermione sat down at the stone bench nearby, appreciating the silence. Snape sat beside her, doing the same.

“And you did you really come because you owed Mr. Donovan one?”

“Yes. It’d be too rude to decline after… Everything.”

“Too rude.” Hermione echoed.

“Sometimes I do mind to be polite.”

She had to laugh at the observation, aware that he wasn’t trying to avert his gaze anymore.

It was all very convenient. They were alone, out of sight. The lights on the grounds and around in strategic spots created a very romantic dim light. The perfect scene for a kiss.

And perhaps that what was Hermione wanted out of Snape, that evening.


	7. Chapter Six

It was unclear who leaned in first, or if it had been a group effort to take the leap both were hesitating with.

Hermione thought about how ironic the whole situation was, as her lips parted, allowing the kiss to deepen. She’d expect Snape to be awkward about it, as well, but that was not the case: instead, his grip on her waist was gentle, yet firm, bringing her closer to him, to sit on his thigh, a much more comfortable position for all backs involved.

She cupped his face and kissed his lips lightly again.

“I’m pleasantly surprised.” she said, when Snape kissed her jaw, her neck.

“I suppose it _is_ surprising I wasn’t celibate this entire time.” he replied, the vibration of his voice tickling Hermione.

Well.

She should have known. One of the things that made it very clear Skeeter got her entire book out of the files was that the gaps in it were the same as the gaps in the files. As Snape himself said, it wasn’t his entire life on trial. There were many areas and stretches of time not explored.

An actual biographer would be interested in his years right after graduation, when he did go to study abroad to prepare for the occasion of Slughorn’s retirement — it had been a long-planned move on Voldemort’s part, to have a spy in Hogwarts.

Or one might even wonder if, going such lengths for someone he had been previously in love with, he got himself involved with other women. If he fell in love again.

He kissed her, more demanding this time, his breath heavy. Being pulled even closer, a hard edge poked Hermione’s thigh, which prompted her to put some distance between them.

“This is a work party.” she said, not at all embarrassed. She _was_ sitting on his lap. Besides, it wasn’t as if her body didn’t have the same reaction. It just wasn’t as telling. “Merlin.”

“It’s a party we can leave, as far as I’m aware.”

“It’d be rude.”

“I don’t mind being rude sometimes.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” Hermione said, laughing, and let herself be drew in closer to a kiss on the neck. “Later, maybe? We have to go back up there unless you want people to speculate.”

That put some sense into Snape.

“How much later is your later, exactly?”

Hermione bit her lower lip, cheek resting against his lips. She wasn’t a virginal little flower who needed long courtships and a serious relationship to invite people to her place. Because, in fact, she didn’t want to rush into anything too serious just to have sex whenever she felt like it.

Like that moment.

The only impediment was the awkwardness of who she’d be inviting to her apartment on the second time they ever met in nine years.

But…

Life was short and it had been _months_ since Hermione had sex for the last time. She could go without sex for very long periods, but whenever she found someone to have sex with, she saw no reason to wait.

Wait for what?

It’d never be less awkward when it came to Snape anyway.

“Right after this party later.” she said, at last. “My apartment?”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

Once again, he closed the distance between them and met his lips with hers, one of his hands gripping Hermione’s thigh. He slipped his tongue on her mouth, and she returned the favor in kind.

Until she felt a throb underneath her, that is, followed by a throb of her own, between her legs: she could feel the moistness there when she rubbed her thighs together.

“Okay. Time to return.”

Snape let out a resigned sigh and let her go. She stood up and tried to check herself for signs she had just been heavily making out with the most unlikely person for her to do so in the wizardry world.

Just the guilty look on her face, maybe. Snape looked nonchalant, as if nothing had happened, his robes hiding the only obvious sign something went down between them during the time Hermione was supposedly showing him the backyard.

After that, they parted ways. Shacklebolt decided to introduce Snape around, which was a blessing. Something would look off if they’d spend the whole entire function together, though they did sit on the same table, beside each other, when dinner was served.

By the time it was all over, at least Hermione was too eager to try and pretend they weren’t leaving together. As soon as no one saw they were leaving to the same place… Once they were far enough down the road leading out of Mr. Donovan’s manor, Hermione took his hand.

“Buckle up.” She warned him before apparating away, to an alley a couple of blocks down her building, in muggle London.

That late in the evening, no one would be around to see a man dressing funny. Besides, there wasn’t a closer place that was safe to turn up with a loud crack.

“You could have given me more of a proper warning.” Snape complained, rubbing his forehead as if he had a headache.

“Sorry.” Hermione said, pulling him by the collar to kiss him. “Better now?”

“You should work at St. Mungos.”

With that, she whisked him away one more time, towards the streets and into her building. It was a small, older building that thankfully didn’t have a doorman, just a couple of gates and a hallway with the stairs and elevators. No one around to keep tabs on how many people — or who — Hermione brought home.

Snape pinned her against of one the elevator’s walls as soon as the doors closed. There was no need for further conversation.

He had done this before, it was very clear. Going home with someone he just met. He stuck out like a sore thumb at the party, yet was very at ease now, alone with Hermione, his hands and mouth and body expertly touching her in all the right places, something one could only learn with experience.

Hermione had quite a bit of experience on her own, and wasn’t shy about it, either.

The doors of the elevator opened, and she led him towards her place, opening the front lock with a wave of her wand. As soon as they were alone, in a proper place to be all over each other, she dropped her purse, her wand and kicked off her heels.

Snape got a hold on her again, but she said:

“I need some water first.”

And that was how she ended up sitting on her kitchen counter, with Snape settled between her thighs, without a doubt leaving a purple mark on the nape of her neck.


	8. Chapter Seven

“Where is the bedroom?”

Hermione opened her eyes in the dim light, Snape’s fingers inside her, his fingertips pressing the best spot. She tried to speak and panted instead. He let her go and stepped away, so she could show him the way.

“This way, please.”

Shameless, Snape licked his fingers clean and unbuttoned his undershirt — his robes were on a pile by the kitchen floor —, throwing them in the middle of the hallway. He quickened his pace to catch up with Hermione and undo the zipper on the back of her dress while she led him through her apartment.

When she got to turn the knob on the door of her bedroom, she was already down to her panties, Snape’s quick fingers finding their way to her breasts, his mouth on her ear.

He was the right kind of eager: eager to touch and please, not eager to stick his dick as soon as possible, Hermione found out. He softly threw her on the bed, climbing on top of her while kicking off his shoes.

She found herself pinned down to the mattress, returning ravenous kisses, taking the opportunity to turn things around and touch him instead, her hand going down his torso to trace the curve of the bulge in his pants.

Snape’s breath missed its pace, and his mouth went to her neck.

Not stopping to think — not daring to — she undid his pants and slid her fingertips inside, her fingers wrapping around his cock. Snape’s hands gripped her a bit tighter then, while he held back a soft moan.

“I wasn’t sure how I was going to fare if I had to waited more than a couple of hours for this.” he said.

“Oh, please.”

Turning things around once more, she pushed him over and climbed on top of him, one hand still on him, the other resting on his stomach. It was very dark, and Hermione guessed he wouldn’t want any lights on, probably because of the huge scar on his neck, and the smaller one on his left arm.

She didn’t mind the darkness — and didn’t want to see the dark mark either, lest she’d snap out of her frenzy and reflect about what she was doing, and who she was doing it with.

But her sense of touch told her Snape had to be one of those skinny people that were just born that way. Even at his fifties, she felt almost none buddying pudge men usually had, and only a soft trail of hair, from his belly button to his crotch, that she kept stimulating in slow strokes, biding her time.

He was interesting to feel, not rough and hairy like most men were. And interesting to hear, too. He tried very hard not to make any noise, yet he failed at it.  

Hermione leaned over to kiss his collarbone and make a trail up his neck to his mouth, while his hands slid up her back. She hadn’t noticed how feather-light his touch was, either.

Interesting indeed.

Despite being very gentle, he sensed Hermione was distracted and flipped her over, playful.

“It’s my turn again, sweetheart.”

Hermione just felt her panties slipping down her thighs, and a pair of hands spreading her knees apart. Snape kissed the middle of her belly and licked down, and down. She gripped two fistfuls of his hair when his mouth touched her sex, at first with light kisses, then more firm movements of tongue.

A good tongue, too.

Didn’t take long for her to cum, her hips bucking against his grip, her fingertips full of Snape’s hair.

“I’m assuming,” she said. “You know how to use a condom.”

“I’m assuming you have condoms.” was his reply as he laid sideways beside her, stroking her stomach. He kissed her cheek and continued: “And we don’t have to do it in this particular way if you don’t want to. I… Understand if it’s too much for you.”

Hermione cupped his cheek, waited for a moment, and said, with a smirk:

“Left nightstand, bottom drawer.”

Finally his pants were off, and Snape didn’t take long to be all set, despite not being able to see much. Having sex with wizards was a Russian roulette: sometimes Hermione would run into hook ups that never heard of condoms and/or didn’t know to put one.

But Snape was always full of surprises.

She didn’t know why she expected him to settle between her legs. What he did instead was get her to lay on her stomach, and climbed on top of her, sliding inside with no resistance.

Hermione liked that. One of his hands touched her clit, his mouth was in a good place to kiss her skin, and his entire body was pressed against her. Penetration alone didn’t do much for her, so the other sensations elevated the pleasure.

Closing her eyes, she let him do as he well pleased, bucking her hips up and sometimes squirming underneath his weight. He was all over her — suffocating, in the best sense of the word.

She had time to reach orgasm again before Snape reached his with a deep thrust and a shaky breath. Promptly, he slipped out of her, to lay on his back, right beside Hermione. They said nothing, for a long while, digesting the situation now that their blood was back into their brains.

“Do you want me to leave?” Snape asked.

“Do you want to leave?”

“I’m partial to staying a little longer. Maybe having sex again later, since I’m already here.”

Hermione turned to him, propping her head up with a hand.

“Okay.”

Snape scooted closer to embrace her.

She leaned into the embrace. It felt good — his body was warm and inviting, even if a bit bony in certain spots. And his hair was all knotted, too, so undoing the knots was a good activity to busy herself with.

“Did you always have your hair this long?”

“It doesn’t stay in any other length, except even longer, and trust me, I’ve tried. It is not the ideal length for someone with my scalp.”

His hair wasn’t that greasy, really. It was just what people decided to pick on about his appearance.

“Why do you think that is?”

“My mother used to braid it.”

“Braid it? Why?”

“Who knows. But I liked it, so she never cut my hair, so _I_ never wanted to cut my hair.”

 “I can do it.” Hermione offered.

“Now?”

“Don’t we have time before the seconds I was promised just a moment ago?”


	9. Chapter Eight

Saturday morning. Hermione laid by her couch, with a cup of coffee — she had gotten to the habit — and a book, trying to make sense of the previous night. Snape left in the wee hours of the morning, after living up to his promise of having sex a second time and a shower.

At the time, she was relieved he had taken the initiative to just leave, perceptive of Hermione’s awkwardness about the situation. He left with a kiss to her cheek, nothing else. She didn’t have his address or phone number, if he had one.

Snape probably assumed it was a one-time situation, a lapse of judgement on her part.  

In a way, it was.

However, as the hours stretched by, Hermione by herself with her thoughts and memories, she came to regret not having a way to be in touch with him.

Because it was a lapse of judgement she’d commit again, now that he proved himself to be an easygoing, perceptive, and even fun partner for a night, amusing himself with the many braids Hermione thought of doing to his hair before they started going at each other again.

It hadn’t been fun just considering her expectations for his person; it had been fun in _general_.

She wanted that, one more time, and who knew how many times after that.  

Counting on the sheer luck of running into him again to finesse his address out of him annoyed Hermione, however there was little she could do at that point in time. He wouldn’t reach out to her.

Or maybe it was best to forget all about it.

She couldn’t make sense of the Snape she had sex with and the Snape who made all of those terrible, selfish decisions. They were the same person, and that Hermione could not forget. It was burned into his skin, a permanent mark of his past.

With that last thought, Hermione decided to let the matter go. It had been a fun night, but a night meant to be a single memory. Nothing else.

And who even knew if Snape wanted to see her again. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so nonchalant about just leaving after they were done if he had any desire to stick around. It could be that he just had a fetish for muggleborns, who even knew, though at the time, when he was with her, the thought in no way crossed her mind.

The weekend went by as usual for Hermione, and the work week after that, and the entire week thereafter, albeit the memories still assaulted her, both from the most recent past to the more distant one. His hands on her, the contents of his trial. The fact he had done it all for a woman.

More than anything, Hermione just wanted to ask him:

Why?

Perhaps she wouldn’t like to hear the answer.

The question eluded her when she laid eyes on him again, at the entrance lobby of the Ministry, as she was going home after a late-night shift. Their eyes met across the room, as it seemed to be a pattern with them, and Snape acknowledged her presence with a nod.

Then he walked towards her. It was just the two of them and a few others employees, too tired to mind them.

“I started to wonder if there was a secret way out I didn’t know of.” Hermione said.

“I wish there was, but that isn’t the case. The solution to the mystery is simpler than you might think.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve been consistently ducking out of your way ever since you started to work here.” Snape said, a hint of a smile on his face, as his eyes glittered with pure amusement, knowing full well the reaction he’d get out of Hermione.

“ _Seriously_?”

“Of course. I didn’t think I’d be a welcome sight, so I just… Avoided being in your line of sight.”

“And now you stopped.”

“I suppose that now you don’t mind seeing me pass by, at least.”

Her terrible thoughts about him vanished out of the forefront of her mind. Perhaps Hermione had just been talking herself out of wanting to speak to him again, because she couldn’t get over his past, despite enjoying his presence — and a few other things about him — at the present.

“I suppose I don’t.”

“I’ll consider that progress.”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a smile. He stood very close to her, and her hands had to stay firmly on the strap of her bag so she wouldn’t just… Touch him. Touchable wasn’t an adjective she’d used to describe him a few years back, but right then…

Did he feel the same about her?

He had to. He wouldn’t be so close, his eyes never leaving her, if he didn’t.

“I wouldn’t mind if you gave me your address, either.” she said, trying very hard not to look away from him and denouncing her nervousness at the thought of taking a shot and being rejected.

It’d sting.

“Now that’s surprising.”

Was it a good or a bad answer?

“Is it? That night…” She lowered her voice, aware of her environment. “That night was fun. Didn’t you think so?”

“I thought so, too.” he replied, softly. A moment of silence. “Well, I could give you my address… Or I could show it to you.”

Merlin.

“Now?”

“Why not? It doesn’t seem like you’ll be up to much when you get home tonight.”

“I’d need a shower.” Hermione argued, more against herself than against Snape.

“I have that in my house. And food, too, if you’re hungry.”

Though he knew Hermione had been won over, and it was simply a matter of her coming to terms with that.

“Well, you… Make a strong case in your favor, Mr. Snape.”

Because the entrance lobby was empty, and there was no Rita Skeeter to make a big deal out of it, Snape placed a hand on the small of Hermione’s back and directed her to the way out, towards his house.

And she let him, anticipating all the other places she’d love his hand to be.


	10. Chapter Nine

Hermione popped open the lid of the shampoo bottle and smelled it, feeling voyeuristic to be in such a private space of Snape’s. He no longer lived in Spinner’s End, deciding to take residing in a tiny little house on the suburbs of London. And so the only bathroom with a shower was his.

Then again, she had offered the very same courtesy when they went to her place instead, a tiny little apartment in central London, so…

Did Snape go about opening every flask to smell its contents too or just Hermione was that weird about it?

His shampoo had a strong minty scent whose traces she had smelled on his hair when she got the change to play around with it. Her dry, curly hair — put up in a bun to stop it from getting wet — could _not_ get close to that product.

Hermione eventually was done showering, though not with snooping around. Because she still needed something to put on before getting naked again. Her office clothes didn’t seem quite suitable for that, so she went instead spelunking for a t-shirt or a shirt or anything wearable on his built-in closet.

His closet was pretty regular. A few sets of work robes, and a few others of muggle clothes he without a doubt had to wear to get around in a muggle neighborhood without raising suspicion. Hermione picked a t-shirt — long enough to wear it as a dress, which what was she hoped.

Then she spotted a box. It was a lower shelf, beside a few other boxes he kept in there. There wasn’t much space, but he didn’t have many clothes, so he used the extra space to store miscellaneous items.

That box was heavy, wooden. No lock in sight. Didn’t seem to house screwdrivers or anything of the sort. Hermione crouched and pried it open, to find letters. She opened the box all the way and shuffled through, not recognizing the name that appeared again and again. Italian.

Mixed between the papers, a polaroid picture that made Hermione almost gasp.

It was Snape, aged twenty or so years. The whole image took a while to settle in with all its details. The messy apartment on the background, the waist-length hair, the fact he was lying on a leather couch, immersed in a book — not minding that someone took a picture —, wearing boxers and a black t-shirt, Dark Mark in full display.

Hermione put down the lid.

He seemed to have such a problem with letting others see his Dark Mark scar. Why keep a picture with it still active showing so evidently? Who took that picture, who he got so comfortable with to be almost in only his underwear?

None of that was any of her business, of course.

However, one thing was to be vaguely aware of what she didn’t know about his life. Quite another was to see solid evidence of it. Hard to picture him being young, carefree about his Dark Mark, carefree about everything. That picture had to be taken by a lover, though wasn’t he in love with Lily, back then?

Filled with regret, Hermione left his bedroom, and went to the living room where he waited for her, reading a book by a couch almost in the same position, his long legs taking up the whole space. Only in his undershirt and pants, he didn’t roll up his sleeves.  

She sat beside him and he put the book away, wrapping a warm around her torso.

“Are you hungry, love?”

Hermione shook her head no, her hands resting on his thigh. He leaned over for a kiss and she obliged, though her mind remained on the picture and the story behind it. Of course he had lovers before; his experience was palpable.

But who was this person he still remembered fondly enough to keep memories of? It had to be from before he became a double agent. Someone he met in Italy and had to leave?

Sensing Hermione’s mind wasn’t quite in the moment, he pulled away from her.

“I didn’t invite you over to pressure you into anything you don’t wish to do.”

“No, it’s not that.” she reassured him, and reminded herself to snap out of it. They weren’t strangers, per se, but he owed her no information about his personal life. “It’s just… Work. But I came here to forget all about it.”

“I can help with that, I hope.”

This time around, both were more patient; if the last time was a lapse of judgement, this one was a willing choice. Neither was going to suddenly realize they didn’t want to do it after all, so there was no need to rush.

Snape returned to his original position, with Hermione comfortably settled between his legs, resting her own torso on his back. He peppered her shoulders and neck with light kisses as his hands stroked her naked thighs, first the outer part, then sliding in between to spread them lightly.

Hermione heard the vibrations of a short laugh coming from his chest when he realized she had no underwear on. With one hand busy stroking her clit, Snape raised the t-shirt — his t-shirt — up to her breasts, one of which he cupped, nibbling her ear lobe.

She melted like butter under his touch, his smell and his warmth, her fingertips digging into his arms.

“What is it about your work that is troubling you?” he asked, as if he was edging her to the brink of an orgasm.

“I can’t recall at this moment.” Hermione replied.

In response, he pulled her closer, pressed her clit a little harder, making a powerful wave of pleasure crash over her. She rested her entire weight on him, breathless, while he had his arms around her stomach.

He still hadn’t rolled up his sleeves. The lights were on, after all.

A bit recovered, Hermione felt like doing something nice for him, so she got out of the couch, getting him to sit up straight. Looking deep into his raven black eyes, she knelt between his thighs.

 


	11. Chapter Ten

Hermione untucked Snape’s shirt from his pants, and unbuttoned it, as slow as possible, though she didn’t remove the article of clothing, knowing that he wouldn’t want that with the lights all on. She ran her hands down the trail of exposed skin, from the rough scarring down his collar bone to the smooth pale flesh of his stomach, and, finally, the raised volume on his pants.

He had his lips parted in anticipation, his face growing a pretty shade of pink.

Lowering her eyes, Hermione unbuttoned his pants, slowly as well — he wore regular wizard robes to work and wizards hadn’t heard of zippers yet. Then, she lowered the band of his boxers just enough to pull out his cock and stroke it.

Snape adjusted his position with a sharp inhale.

She stopped what she was doing and rested her elbows on his knees, propping her head with a hand.

“What is it?”

“You’re blushing.”

“Well, I…” he stammered. “Of course I am blushing. I would never think that— Oh.”

In the middle of his speech, Hermione ran the tip her tongue from the base to the tip of his cock, to then circle around the head, feeling the throbs against her lips. She took him in her mouth, teasing him with her tongue as she sucked lightly, her hands going to rest again on his thighs.

Snape’s hands stroked her arms, and her shoulder blades as she did so. Thankfully he wasn’t one of the types that held the back of the head — Hermione _had_ a gag reflex, hence why she preferred licking to proper blowing.

But he seemed to be very pleased with whatever she wanted to do to him; and she understood why he liked to please her so much. It was interesting to feel him turning into putty in her hands, the throbbing turning more insistent.

Under her touch, she could feel his muscles becoming tense: a signal for her to get her mouth off him and get back into using her tongue to tease and a hand to stroke him instead.

Snape was getting very close. Hermione stroked a little faster, kissing his lower stomach, and with that he came, milky drops dripping down his torso. He leaned fully into the couch, catching his breath, as Hermione straddled him to kiss him in the lips, slipping her tongue inside his mouth, mindful to keep some distance of his semen-covered skin.

That would undo one of the main purposes of wearing condoms, considering her lack of underwear.

“I probably should clean my own mess.” He said, breaking the kiss.

“You should.” Hermione agreed with a snort.

He pulled her for a kiss, by the back of her neck, and whispered:

“Wait for me in bed while I do that.”

Hermione wasn’t going to say no to that, so she followed him as he made his way back to his bedroom but left his trail when he went to his bathroom. Instead, she dropped onto the bed. The room was dimly lit — the only sources of the light were coming from the bathroom, and the living room light that seeped into the hallway.

Her eyes rested on his closet.

So much about him she had to idea of. The waist-length hair shouldn’t have been a surprise, should it? He did mention his hair could only get longer, though it was an odd choice for a man. With his hair so long, he looked…

Androgynous.

Now that Hermione thought of the term, in fact he had always been like that. His elegance and his smoothness weren’t particularly masculine, and neither was his body when his clothes were off. Because he was so lean and hairless, he looked nothing like other men in their late forties she met.

Perhaps he was always clean shaven because he couldn’t grow a beard.

Her train of thought trailed off when he returned to the bedroom, only in his boxers and got on top of Hermione, settling between her legs. She tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and locked their lips, experiencing Snape in a whole different light.

The softness of his mouth when he took his shirt off Hermione’s body and sucked on her nipples, one finger pumping in and out of her. The gentleness of how he held her hips in place while getting her off using his tongue or when he flipped her to her side to penetrate her — after putting a condom on, of course.

Hermione just let him set the pace and get her to be this way and that. He wasn’t an overexcited guy in his mid-twenties and it’d be a while until he came again. She ended up with her face down on a pillow, grasping the sheets, with him moving inside her, hands on her hips.

Coming from that wasn’t going to happen, however it felt very good all the same, the feeling of being filled up and fucked into the mattress.

When he came, Hermione collapsed on the bed, sweaty and exhausted. She turned to lay on her back, looking at him who laid sideways, beside her, caressing her stomach.

Since they weren’t in her house, perhaps it was time for her to take her leave. But she was so tired…

“Do you mind if I stay a little while? I need to rest before getting my things and leaving.”

“You can stay the night, if you want to. I left that day because I assumed it’d be too much, however on my account, I have no issues with that. You’re tired from work, I’m tired from work. Let’s take a shower and go to sleep.”

That sounded terrific to Hermione’s ears. Due to her late-night shift, she wouldn’t have to be back at the Ministry until the afternoon of the following day. She could afford not to sleep at home.

“Okay.”

The shower was the only occasion Hermione got to see the scar on his arm up close, though she made no commentary of that. He seemed to be more at ease around her, but not by that much. A wrong move or making a big deal out of it would make him clam up.

He wanted not to mention his past ever again, and at the same measure, Hermione got increasingly more curious.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I'm busy with uni so I'm focusing on updating. I shall reply to all comments soon enough, though I've been at least reading them all! c:

When Snape suggested they eat before Hermione’s departure, she wasn’t entirely foreseeing he’d have _her_ for breakfast before the actual meal. Somewhere along the process of making pancakes — because he was the perfect host —, she ended up leaned over, on her tip toes, cheek pressing against the cool marble counter top.

Not an unwelcome surprise by any means.

Snape held her down with a hand splayed between her shoulder blades, thrusting into her lazily, slowly, enjoying the ride before Hermione left, and making her enjoy it too by stroking her clit. Perhaps he thought she wouldn’t be back soon, if at all.

But she’d be. Or at least she’d try to.

He came only after she did, and leaned over to kiss her shoulder while slipping out of her. Hermione finally put her heels on the ground, and turned to face him, lips pressed to stop her satisfaction to show on her face.

“What is it?” he asked, turning away to get the condom out.

“Nothing. I’m just… Jesus.”

Her parents were loosely catholic, so sometimes she reverted to saying God or Jesus instead of Merlin. Like right then.

“I’m pretty certain _Jesus_ wouldn’t approve of this.” was his reply as he walked away to clean himself.

Hermione leaned her weight on the counter top, with her lips still pressed shut, coming from the realization she actually… Liked having sex with him. Which could be a dangerous gateway into liking him as a person.  

Which she did, in a way, otherwise she wouldn’t have had sex with him one time, let alone two, let alone sleep at his place and agree into having breakfast, too. There was a line that she didn’t wish to cross, however she knew very well she wouldn’t be able to distance herself, not anymore.

A couple of moments later he returned, pajama pants back on, plus a t-shirt. Somewhere along the night before, he seemed to have lost his shyness about the Dark Mark scar, which confirmed Hermione’s suspicions the picture she found had been taken by a lover.

He kissed her forehead in a greeting and said:

“I must apologize for starving you since last night. Don’t you want to drink some juice or milk while you wait, princess?”

Hermione wouldn’t have guessed Snape to be casual about pet names either, though that was yet another thing she came to like about him.

“I’ll get some milk for myself, don’t worry.”

Which she did, and then she found a comfortable spot in the kitchen to watch him cook, resting her hip against a drawer. She wore a different shirt from his closet, but still no underwear, so sitting on surfaces wasn’t the most hygienic thing to do.

“I didn’t know you cooked.”

“Eating isn’t my favorite past-time, as you can tell by looking at me, however it seems I’m unfortunately unable to survive on firewhiskey and sleeping potions, so…”

“What do you like to eat?” Hermione asked, her mouth moving faster than her thoughts. “I could cook for you. Sometime.”

Snape raised an eyebrow at that, though his eyes kept focused on turning on the stove and heating the pan.

“That is a rather complex question. Though I suppose I’ll like anything someone decided to cook for me.”

“Well, my mother is Nigerian, so I know a couple recipes I’m sure you haven’t tried before.”

Snape was lovely, but he was very white. He didn’t know how to properly pet Hermione’s curly hair until she taught him how to do it without disturbing the curl pattern.

“And your father? Granger isn’t a Nigerian surname, is it?”

“No, my father’s family is French. My grandfather decided to come to London and here we are still.”

“But aren’t your parents both dentists? How come you only know recipes from your mother?” he said, making conversation as he spilled a portion of dough on the warm pan.

“You know why. My mother was the only one who cooked despite the fact they both worked. At the same place, in fact.”

His lips curled up.

“And you don’t intend to follow the example?”

“Definitely _not_. There is a reason why most employees at Law Enforcement are men. You can’t be a wife and work Law Enforcement at the same time, not when men expect their wives to do household chores and cook on top of a work day.”

His slight smile grew into a toothy grin upon Hermione’s passionate reply.

“Your bar is set very high, then, if you expect your partner to be a self-sufficient adult.”

“Why do you think I’ve been single for eight years?” Hermione snorted.

Perhaps the fact her last boyfriend had been Ron was a bit pathetic, but her bar was set very high, and she was in no particular rush. She never had plans of having family or anything, so her approaching thirties, the magical age where all her ovules would dry up apparently, didn’t concern her.

Snape turned to her, his brows furrowed in surprise.

“You’ve been single for _eight_ years?”

“Don’t look at me like that. I’ve been busy. Besides, with Rita Skeeter on my tail, and overall just wishing not to be a nanny for an adult man, it became very difficult to find a man decent to date.”

“Rita Skeeter isn’t on your tail anymore. Which I’m thankful for, otherwise _this_ ,” he said, referring to the whole situation of him inviting Hermione over. “Wouldn’t happen.”

“It would be a shame.”

“Wouldn’t it?” Snape agreed, and got closer to kiss her, gently parting her lips with his tongue.

Hermione broke the kiss to warn him:

“I swear on Merlin that if we delay this breakfast _again_ , I’ll pass out.”

He got his hands off her, raised in surrender.

“Sorry.”

“I’m going to get dressed just to make sure.”

“Of course. It should be ready when you get back.”

Hermione left him that morning with a sour taste on the back of her mouth. Talking to him was pleasant, yet he almost never said anything about himself, while she spilled things about herself that she seldom spoke to anyone.

Despite not being able to fault him too much for that, it put her at a great disadvantage. Besides, she still couldn't quite get past the whole "deciding to become a Death Eater" thing. 

But she’d see him again and again and again, for certain.

She could only hope the taste wouldn’t grow too sour.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, it is me back with not replying to comments hahaha I read and appreciate them all, just didn't yet have the time to properly reply to who has commented since the last couple of updates. I shall get into it soon enough!

Funny how one unrelated event gave birth to another. Rita Skeeter deciding to publish a book got Hermione to hook-up with the most enigmatic figure of the Wizardry World — the British one anyway — and a single lapse on Hermione’s part made them swiftly but certainly cross the line to dating.

Not that she noticed it at the time.

Forgetting to buy groceries had her sitting at a table on a restaurant five blocks away from her building, sitting beside Snape, who to her had become Severus, while saying:

“You never told me what is it that you do on the Department of Mysteries.”

“The same everyone does down there: research.” he said. “Though my particular research is about horcruxes. Shacklebolt became invested in the subject now that, due to recent events, everyone and their mother in the United Kingdom knows about horcruxes and have a loose knowledge on how to make one.”

“And… Do you like… It?”

Hermione liked that restaurant because the booths inside were very private. She called a lot of attention by herself just on the virtue on being one of the few Black people that frequented the place. With Severus in tow, very attention-grabbing himself with the black clothes, and the hair and the enormous scar on his neck, it wouldn’t be any different.

Besides, they could talk freely about anything, despite being in a muggle environment, as long as they kept their voices low.

“It is as close as a dream job as one can get. I work by myself on closed quarters, reading books all day, not having to deal with other people and most importantly…” A pause for a sip of water. “I don’t have to deal with children.”

Hermione couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“It is perfect for you, then. But did you never think of having children of your own?”

Asking that question hadn’t been a deliberate move on Hermione’s part, however it was something she minded asking that as early as possible to men she dated with more serious intentions. She didn’t want children.

Though right then it came up moreso as an attempt to pry something personal out of Severus.

He made a so-so gesture with his head, taking a bite of the marvelous fish fillet they ordered.

“I never thought it was a possibility. And now, yes, I don’t want them.”

“Strange.”

“Why is that strange?”

“Sometimes I feel like…” A deep breath. “Sometimes I feel like men don’t think about these things. They just assume they’ll inevitably get married and have children, and they never stop to think about that because not much changes for them. They won’t get pregnant, they won’t take care of the baby. They’ll keep going to work and coming home as usual.”

Severus said nothing for a moment, and he seemed amused at something Hermione could not fathom. It was just a flash, a discreet glimmer on his dark eyes, an as soon as it came, it was gone, and he said:

“You have a strong point, but these men haven’t been double agents for ages.”

“It’s been nine years since then, though. You had plenty of time to marry and have children if you wanted to. It isn’t like you’d be at a lack of willing participants now that you are a war hero.”

“Again, you make a good point.” he conceded. “However, it is not as simple to me as you are making it seem. For the most part, considering I inherited my father’s temper, I always try to take precautions to make sure there are no accidents. I have to thank muggles for that.”

That Severus’ family wasn’t a happy one, Hermione knew already, but she never heard it from his mouth. One could almost think he appeared out of thin air one day, aged ten, and went to Hogwarts.

“You didn’t like your father?” she asked.

“The only way fate intervened in my favor was to kill him off early.” Severus replied, nonchalant, though a heavy shadow crossed his expression.

But he was talking about his life.

Hermione reached for his hand on top of the table.

“What… What exactly happened to your family, Severus?”

“If Skeeter wanted to make an actual biography of my life, she wouldn’t have too much trouble putting that together. My father died when I was twenty-three. He was a factory worker that drank too much, and his liver gave up. There was an autopsy, so his death went on muggle records. Though, of course… He had to drag my mother down even in death. She committed suicide a couple of years later while I was away at Hogwarts, and I had to go in to recognize her body. There is, somewhere, a police record about a woman who died after being hit by a passing car.”

All the while his voice had a hard, bitter edge to it Hermione hadn’t heard in many years.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I suppose I understand it better than I used to when I was younger.” His tone grew a bit softer. “She met him young. As in sixteen years, while he was… Twenty seven, like you.”

That information made Hermione scowl.

“I agree with the sentiment.” Severus said. “They dated, or should I say, he groomed her for two years. She ran away with him right after Hogwarts. It might be that one of them was infertile because I was their only child, and my mother was around thirty when she gave birth. Either way, by then she of course couldn’t imagine herself without him, despite the abuse, or perhaps even because of it. I’m not certain.”

“I don’t know what to say. This is terrible.”

Severus took his hand from underneath hers to pat it, and then bring it to his lips for a light kiss.

“This happened a long time ago, love. It doesn’t matter now.”

“I just ruined the dinner, didn’t I?” Hermione asked, sinking into her spot.

“I wouldn’t be so certain.” His hand went underneath the table and slipped under her skirt to caress her thigh, unfortunately covered by a thick pair of pantyhose. “You can make it up to me later.”

It was a joke, though the insinuation of having sex again when they got back to her apartment was a serious one.

“I’ll try my best.”


	14. Chapter Thirteen

“So where are you sneaking to?” Severus asked as soon as Hermione set foot back in the bedroom.

She thought he wouldn’t notice her slipping from underneath him, considering he slept under the effect of strong sleeping potions and was knocked out cold for seven to eight hours. When she left to clean up in the bathroom, he didn’t move.

But there he was, sitting up with his torso against the headboard, wide awake.

“I wanted to go out and get food before you woke up. I feel like such a lousy host in comparison to you because I can’t keep up with my groceries.”

Hermione may be an adult, though she was a disaster in any objective scale. Severus seemed to have gotten it right: his house was always spotless clean, and his pantries stocked. Teenager Hermione would be shocked to know that in a few years, she’d forget to do everything perfectly.

Adult Hermione knew she could only do so much. Working long hours at Law Enforcement made her give up trying to have everything together at any given time.

“I do have more free time to stock up my fridge.” he said, getting out of the covers and standing up. “Give me five minutes.”

With that, he picked up his underwear and pants from the floor and went to the bathroom, passing by Hermione and closing the door.

“What for?”

“I’m coming with you.”

She got dressed and went to sit by her couch, legs crossed and a foot swinging on the air; a realization slowly bubbling to her surface of her mind. It escaped her the night before, but it wouldn’t escape her again.

She was _dating_ Severus.

 Being so used to being single, and otherwise unaware of how serious adult relationships formed — considering her last one started in her teenage years —, it took her a while to notice the turn things were taking.

Ever since that first night, they had seen each other every single week. With Hermione’s flexible schedule, not always on the weekends. They slept at each other’s house, and now they were going to get groceries together.

And she had asked him if he wanted children.  

Not even her adult relationship with Ron was like that. Hence why Hermione broke it off. She couldn’t see herself living her life with him by her side, not when it was impossible to picture them being able to do simple, domestic things together without breaking into fights, big or small.

The bedroom door opened, and Severus walked out, giving Hermione a minty kiss on the cheek, a hand squeezing her shoulder.

“Shall we?” She must have a look on her face, because he then asked: “What has happened in between five minutes ago and now that got you worried?”

Did he _notice_ what was going on?

There was one other thing that made Hermione stay single for such a long time. Now and again a promising date would appear. Things would start to get serious and then… Nothing. Sometimes, the person wasn’t ready for a relationship — to then show up committed a couple of months later — and other times, they’d do relationship stuff… Without officializing the relationship or even simply introducing Hermione to friends and family.

That was a trend not just with her, but with many black women she got a chance to speak with. And Hermione was even at an advantage, there, being mixed and light-skinned. She went on dates often, something women like her mother, dark-skinned, didn’t get a chance to do.

What was Severus’ deal?

Because, well, it seemed outrageous that they’d date. So maybe he didn’t take it seriously at all. And Hermione would think that’d be her reaction too…

But it wasn’t. She was getting invested and didn’t want to get hurt like that again.

And maybe… Just maybe… She wanted to break things off right then just because her degree of investment in Severus scared her. So she said, tactless, hoping to get the worst reaction possible:

“Why are you doing all this?”

He straightened his posture and sat down beside her.

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Do you want to be in a relationship with me or are you… Going grocery shopping with me just because?”

Ah, the r-word. Which didn’t phase Severus at all.

“Do _you_ want to be in a relationship with me, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know.” Hermione said, but she did, and crossed her arms in front of her chest, avoiding his gaze. “Maybe. Sometime.”

“Sometime is fine by me. Considering our situation, it’s more than natural that you’d want time to digest the idea.”

“And you don’t need that?”

“Hermione, don’t you know by now I’m a hopeless romantic? I’ve been thinking about this for longer than I’d feel comfortable saying out loud. I simply thought you wouldn’t want that. All things considered.”

“I do know you’re an optimist.” She said after a moment of silence, a smile beginning to form on her lips.

“There is a silver lining to being pessimistic. I can only ever be pleasantly surprised.”

“I’ll give you that.”

He pulled her to himself and kissed her forehead, then her lips, and the curve of her neck, as tender and soft as ever. Hermione took his hand, taking the liberty to study it up close for the first time; the veins peeking through the ghostly skin, the long fingers. The perfectly manicured nails with clear nail polish.

“You do your nails?”

“Don’t you?” was Severus’ reply.

“Who has the time for that!”

“I should remind you I’m almost retiring. Then again, I’ve doing this as far as I remember. Though I used to paint my nails black.”

Hermione turned his palm up, and he let himself be the subject of a close study.

“Did you really?”

“Of course. I was young, once. And I wasn’t at Hogwarts the entire time in my twenties, either.”

He seemed a little hesitant saying this, as if Hermione would judge him, somehow. Frankly, she thought she should have seen it coming. He did like black. And if the feminine waist-length hair didn’t bother him, why would nail polish?

“I could give an arm for the chance of seeing you in your twenties.”

“Keep your arm.” he said. “I wasn’t much to look at. I suppose I still am not. At any rate, the lights are off when it matters.”

Any chance of the trip to the supermarket being postponed died when Hermione’s stomach growled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know canonically the explanation for the black thing is because Snape is mourning Lily's death but consider this... He was just goth. 
> 
> Also AGAIN I can't reply to comment bc uni yada yada luv you all


	15. Chapter Fourteen

The morning was pleasantly warm considering how close winter was. A small blessing, for Hermione and Severus had to hike for about eight blocks to reach her supermarket of choice, a small establishment which somehow had everything one could hope for.

She always went there, but the space became entirely different now that she had company. She did her usual route through the aisles, picking up groceries and toiletries as she went, except then she had a personal basket carrier.

“Is there something in particular you like to have for breakfast?” Hermione asked as she picked up some greenery in a tall shelf filled with every type of leaf humanity has attempted to eat, the cold mist hitting her face.

“Coffee. I cook breakfast when you sleep over because I don’t want to starve you. Otherwise, I’ll just have coffee.”

“Just coffee?”

“A shot of firewhiskey, maybe, if I know the day is going to be long.”

“I suppose today’s breakfast will have to be the chef’s choice, then.”

“My utmost trust is placed upon you.” He said, in ironic gallantry.

“There will be no alcohol.”

“Unfortunate.”

In between a laugh, Hermione turned around to keep going her way when she spotted, further down the aisle, a neighbor — if one could say people living within fifteen blocks of each other were neighbors. She had gone on a couple of dates with him, then he dropped under the radar, and it was always awkward seeing him at the same place they originally met.

Even moreso now that she was accompanied, and he wouldn’t stop staring at her because of that. She took a sharp turn left, to the aisle with pastas, and other types of wheat by-products.

“Whoever that man is,” Severus said. “I don’t think you did a good job hiding from him.”

“It’s nothing. Just a guy I went out on a couple of dates with.”

She said that and didn’t know what to expect from Severus' reaction. But none of the options got even close to the actual reply:

“Ah.” A pause. “Quite handsome. And, if I may take a polite guess, stupid as a door.”

Hermione thought she’d get along with that guy because he went to law school, and he played well the part of intellectual, with his thick beard, as brown as his curly hair, and black-rimmed glasses. Still, he did look very handsome. His look was intentionally disheveled.

And, yes, he was as stupid as a door.

“How did you know?”

“It’s usually one or the other, with men.” Severus replied with a nonchalant shrug.

“And with women?” Hermione said, crossing her arms in front her a chest, an accusatory eyebrow raising.

“Usually both.”

With that, he leaned for a peck on her lips, getting himself out of a very tight corner with utmost grace.

“You managed to save face…” And, like him, Hermione paused. “This time.”

“Oh please. I think well on my feet.”

Hermione would never have guessed Severus could be so likeable. When he went home, later that morning, she found herself wishing he’d be back. And at the same time… She couldn’t keep herself from thinking that same man made the decision to become a Death Eater.

The more she liked him, the more the shadow of his past haunted her, not less, as she would hope. If she couldn’t understand why, and make sure his reasoning became void, she couldn’t help thinking she’d get hurt.

As Lily had.

Such thoughts kept plaguing her the rest of the weekend, and when Wednesday came around, she couldn’t take it anymore and wrote him a note to spend the night at his place. She couldn’t move forward with him unless she knew.

And when he opened the door for her, he immediately sensed something was up.

“What is troubling you?” he said as she walked into the living room.

“I suppose we need to talk.”

“Of course.”

“I…” Hermione took a deep breath, walking in circles in his living room as he watched, apprehensive. “I don’t think my problem with you is necessarily waiting or digesting the idea.”

“You have a problem with me?”

“Not you.” She corrected herself.

“You mean my past.”

“Yes.”

“So what is it that you want?”

“I want to know. I… I can’t live with the shadow, even though I like you so very very much. But I don’t think we should be together unless… I know.”

Severus deflated, his shoulders hunching as they did when he was incredibly upset. Hermione had seen him do that only one other time.

“Don’t ask me this. Ask me anything, but not this.” he said, his voice very low. “Who I am now isn’t good enough for you?”

Likewise, Hermione’s anger entirely deflated. She came to grow very tender feelings for him, and couldn’t stand to see him that upset, let alone being the culprit of said reaction.

“I’m sorry. It just… Bothers me not to know.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I made a couple of very terrible mistakes, and I paid a terrible price for twenty years. It’s over. Discussing it more is just going to open more wounds. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if Skeeter hadn’t done me the favor of leaking the files, would we?”

“No.”

“I don’t think your hesitation towards me is going to be fixed by me laying bare that part of my past for you, so I’d much rather not say. If you can’t accept this about me, I don’t think we should be together.”

“No, don’t say that.” Hermione replied, reaching out to him, arms wrapping around his neck, her lips placing a kiss on his jaw. “I didn’t mean to come here to break up with you or anything. What you said make sense and I… I’m trying to accept it. I’m just struggling, I think.”

“I will do anything in my power to help you through this.”

“Answer me just one thing, then.”

“I will do my best.”

“Did you ever believe in what Voldemort believed in?”

Severus shook his head no.

“I was a coward, not a bigot. Not that it makes any difference, but…”

“Well, to me it does. I think it’s easier for a coward to learn how to be brave than a bigot to change his mind. I am muggleborn, so of course it matters to me.”

A long moment of silence.

“You know, that day, what I suppose I was trying to do was to say something to her I couldn’t take back. I knew I’d always try to apologize and make up, as you know I have tried, and I had to do something that would end things for good. I wasn’t going to do it, so I had to make her do it.”

By her, he meant Lily.

“Why?”

“It is all related to the very thing I wish not to tell you.”

“Alright.” Hermione said, with a nod, and hugged him. “It’s alright.”

And she was sure of that, when she said it.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

“So how are we going to break the news, exactly?”

“What news?” Severus said, casual, as he inspected his paintwork in Hermione’s toe nail, though he could scarcely hold back a sarcastic smirk.

Daily Prophet’s new chief editor did an actual decent job at keeping people informed of relevant matters regarding the wizardry community. As such, no one had any idea of Severus and Hermione’s blossoming relationship.

And surely coming forth with it at a Ministry function — the same one that, three months before, kickstarted their reunion — would be less than ideal.

But…

What was the use of hiding it? Maybe it was a new relationship, however it wasn’t as if they were treading unsure waters with each other still.

Severus sighed, leaning back on Hermione’s couch and patting her foot after putting away the nail polish. He said then:

“And to answer your question… Perhaps we don’t have to break any news. Let people come around the conclusion by themselves. I have no intentions of pretending not to be in a relationship with you, and if others find it strange, well… I could not possibly care less.”

The party would be in four hours or so and Hermione had the great blessing of having the day off. Severus had flexible schedule and decided to get out of the Ministry to spend the afternoon with her. In several hours, most of the people who mattered to her would know about it.

“Aren’t you… Afraid of what people will say?”

“What are people going to say? That I was lucky enough to find myself a very intelligent, gorgeous young woman? Honestly, I’ve heard worse about me.” he replied. “Besides, you need to stop worrying over other people’s judgement. Yes, it is unusual and strange. But aren’t you happy?”

“I am over the moon.”

“Then it doesn’t matter what others think.”

“I didn’t think you’d be any good at giving pep talks.” Hermione remarked after some silence, during which Severus returned to the very important task at hand of painting her toes a deep shade of red.  

 “How do you think I convince myself to get out of the bed every morning?”

Hermione didn’t take it personally that his mood wasn’t chirpy all of the time now that they were together, as hers was. Severus’ scars weren’t only physical. Over the course of the almost three months they had been together, she came to know he struggled with insomnia, night terrors and a generous dose of depression.

Falling in love wasn’t going to wash it all away.

So she laughed at his remark, because he dealt using humor and he’d rather have her laugh than be concerned. He was coping.

And he was going to be ironic about it in the meantime.

“I should have known.”

Severus decided to cut his work short and pull Hermione to his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.

“I suppose I’ll have to make this quick.” he said.

“You better. My nails are only half-painted.”

With that, she let him get her legs around his middle so he could lift her up and take her to the bedroom, lips on her neck and collarbone, her nightgown hiking up to her hips.

Severus put her down easy on the edge of the bed, and promptly leaned over to make a trail of kisses down her stomach while he finished lifting her nightgown. He knelt, one hand on a breast, the other pushing the underwear aside so he could use his mouth on her.

Sex was only getting better, now that he had time to study her body and what felt the best. Since they were in a bit of a time-crunch, he didn’t play around much before using the tricks up his sleeve that were bound to have Hermione writhing and orgasming within minutes.

While she caught her breath, Severus took off his shirt and went looking for a condom.

“I think…” he said. “You forgot something in your shopping list this week.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“It’s fine.” he replied with a shrug, laying beside her and pulling her to a tight cuddle, on which she could feel his erection throbbing against her.

Not that he minded it at all, it rather seemed like.

“You may be the first man I dated who didn’t attempt to have sex without a condom.”

“I don’t have sex without one.” he said, categorical, and then corrected himself: “Penetrative sex, at least.”

“That’s surprising. Not even muggle men are so adamant.”

He shrugged again.

“It’s the safest route for everyone involved.”

“When I was younger, I’d do it, sometimes. But I always found it unfair I’d have to worry so much more and be entirely responsible not to get pregnant. I don’t even feel a difference.”

“So did I, until…” Severus let his voice trail off. “I went through a very close call that spoke some sense into me. I’ve been using condoms every single time, ever since.”

And he was still entirely stiff, despite his mood growing a bit grim. Hermione didn’t wish to leave him hanging like that, so she entwined her legs with his, and slid a hand down his stomach and into his boxers. She traced the curve of his boner with a fingertip, making his breath lose pace.  

“This is okay by you, I hope.”

“This is perfect.”

Hermione hoped no one would notice the hickey she left behind on his neck while stroking him, up until he came, on himself and on her hand.

The good thing about not having any condoms in the household was that it didn’t take too long for them to get back into track and get ready to leave. But the lack of condoms in Hermione’s house wasn’t the only unlikely thing that was bound to happen that day.

Hermione thought it was unnerving enough to let Shacklebolt and Mr. Donovan know she was now dating Severus…

And then they arrived at the salon, and Harry was there, with his wife of two years, Luna Lovegood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise surprise


	17. Chapter Sixteen

“What is it with Mr. Donovan’s parties lately that the person I least expect to see shows up?” Hermione said to herself.

“No clue.” Severus replied, adjusting his collar to hide the bruise peeking through his neckline.

And with that, Luna spotted Hermione and smiled brightly. She took Harry by the hand and dragged him over to where they stood by the entrance, frozen in place. Harry smiled as well when he saw Hermione…

Then a quizzical look took over his face when he saw Severus standing beside her.

“Hi, Hermione! Hello there, Professor Snape. What a coincidence you two arrived at the same time.”

“Gladly for Hogwarts’ students, I have not been a teacher in almost a decade. You can drop the professor, Lovegood.”

Considering Luna was Harry’s wife — what a trip to see the gold band around their ring fingers —, and her ease addressing Severus, it could be that she knew the whole thing. Or the part of the situation he allowed Harry to see, anyway, which more and more felt like the tip of the iceberg when it came to Severus’ past.

“Not to be rude, sir… But I didn’t expect to see you here.” Harry said.

“Drop the sir.” Severus replied, a bit annoyed at the formality people extended to him when it was no longer necessary. “I didn’t expect to be here either, if that’s any comfort.”

Every other guest in the room was trying to be polite about eavesdropping their conversation. It was quite the reunion, indeed.

“Harry, you never come to these parties.” Hermione said.

“Well, yeah, but I decided for a change of air.”

Hermione couldn’t say Harry was her best friend anymore, yet she still knew him too well.

“So why did you really come? Not I’m not happy to see you again after such a long time. You and Luna.”

She went to their wedding, though she was out of the loop when it came to Harry’s life. He dated Ginny for a very long time and split amiably out of nowhere. Then he started dating Luna and married her with a little over a year of dating.

All the Weasleys were at the wedding, too, so Hermione knew nothing ended or started badly. Ginny was beaming for them.

“We came to see you.” Luna said.

Harry nodded, taking a sip of his drink.

Hermione supposed they weren’t the type of friends who could just invite each other over anymore.

“Ron was supposed to come too, but he is going through a crisis right now.” Harry said.

“What is it this time?”

“Something about Ginny dating a girl from the Wasps. He doesn’t get the gist of professional quidditch. They aren’t _truly_ mortal enemies.”

“Wait. A _girl_?”

Harry let out a long sigh.

“This sounds bad, but I miss Rita Skeeter. You’d know all about this right now if she still worked at the Daily Prophet.” He turned to Severus: “With all due respect.”

“On the contrary, I’m glad she’s gone. Ron would be going through double the crisis right now.” Hermione remarked.

“Why?”

“Because…” She took a deep breath. “Severus is here because he is my plus one. Ginny isn’t the only one dating someone unlikely.”

Harry’s jaw bobbed up and down as he tried to form words, and none came to him. Luna turned to Hermione and said, nonchalant:

“I think he’s trying to say he’s happy for you two.”

“What I think I’m trying to say is…” Harry said. “ _How_?” And again, he turned to Severus: “No offense, sir.”

Severus sighed, rolling his eyes at the sir, though he was more well-humored than truly annoyed.

“It just happened. We met again because I was on the Skeeter case and… It happened.” Hermione replied. “I don’t know what to tell you about that.”

“I get it. No one expected me to be with Luna, either.” Harry said, placing a hand on Luna’s lower back and kissing her cheek. 

Hermione had to smile at seeing him so in love and happy with someone. Though there was one thing that still needed clarification.

“You need to tell me about Ginny sometime.”

“I suppose I will leave you two to catch up.” Severus said, taking his leave.

“I think I felt a serious infestation of Wrackspurts around that corner over there.” Luna commented to him. “Do you want to check it?”

To Hermione’s surprise, Severus snorted, with a smirk, and gave a shrug.

“Why not?”

With that, Luna got him away to the least crowded spot of the room. She wasn’t half as socially oblivious as people perceived her to be.

Hermione turned to Harry and couldn’t help but to hug him tight, now that they were in the same room again.

“I missed you!”

“I missed you, too.” Harry said.

“So what about Ginny? Did you two break up because she likes women?”

“Not really. Even before we broke up, Ginny had said to me she was into girls as well, just didn’t have the courage to date one. Because of what the Weasleys would think, what people would say…”

“Oh.” Hermione exclaimed.

“Yeah. I didn’t say anything to anyone because it’s her business.” Harry was very good at keeping secrets. He didn’t say a peep about Severus, either. “And she is a professional quidditch player. She isn’t famous just because she dated me. Then we broke up and she decided to at least be upfront to her family, you know. She was single and could end up dating a girl.”

“And now?”

“Now there’s no Rita Skeeter. We all have a pass to date whoever we want.” Harry said and looked over to where Severus and Luna were.

Luna was earnestly explaining something to him, and he listened, nodding and going along with it.

Harry turned back to Hermione.

“I was shocked for a minute, though now I see why that would happen.”

“He’s actually pretty cool.” Hermione said.

“For how long you have been dating?”

“Two months or so. Not very long, but I… I do like him.”

“Ron is going to have a fit.”

“Yes, he will. Tell me all about it when you break the news to him.”

"Who said I'm going to?"


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I'm trying to keep up the updating schedule! I'll get to replying the comments soon!

Hermione became very skilled at the art of braiding. As she tried to replicate from memory the braids of an elven character she saw in a movie, Severus sat between her legs, he asked:

“Do you mind telling me what happened with the Weasley girl?”

She raised a brow, her fingers undoing a knot of a strand of silver hair. They were in her bed, but for that evening, they would have to stick to innocent activities.

“I didn’t think you’d care to know.”

“I left because it seemed personal, and I supposed you and Potter needed time by yourselves to talk freely. Though if I may be perfectly honest… I am curious.”

“If Harry told me, then I guess he’s okay with you knowing, too. He’s very good at keeping things to himself if he figures it’s no one’s business. Harry never told me anything about you. I think he didn’t even tell Luna.” Hermione said. “Basically… Ginny is dating a player from another Quidditch team.”

A pause while she tried to picture Orlando Bloom in a blonde wig from memory. She then picked a thick strand nearby Severus’ temple.

“From what I know, it seems she goes both ways. She and Harry broke up because they were together for the wrong reasons. As it happens when people get together too young, sometimes. Now she’s dating another woman. That’s it.” Another pause. “I feel bad for being so shocked at first. I… I shouldn’t have assumed anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“First, for assuming she was straight. Then, for assuming she was a lesbian and she broke up with Harry because of that. It’s hard for me to face, but I’m rather ignorant about certain issues. I was educated at a private catholic school before Hogwarts, even though my parents aren’t religious, and neither am I. And Hogwarts isn’t any better, I feel like. Whoever wasn’t straight in my time there, didn’t feel safe being open about it. Ginny, for one. She never dated girls before because she was afraid of the repercussions, and since she liked boys, too, then…”

“Not to sound smug, but I knew it.” Severus said.

“You knew it? How? I mean, she didn’t go around with short hair and boy clothes.”

Though Hermione realized Ginny wasn’t particularly feminine either, nothing that raised any flags. Not to Hermione, who never noticed anything, it rather seemed like.

“Intuition.”

“Intuition.” Hermione said, amused. “Is there another example?”

“Dumbledore.”

“ _Dumbledore_?”

Hermione dropped the small braid she was working on, and Severus adjusted himself to sit beside her on the bed.

“My love, Dumbledore was gay.”

“Then why—”

“Do you think he’d be a Headmaster if the wizardry community at large knew he was gay? Or he’d even be hired as a teacher? This is true even now, can you imagine back then, a century ago, almost?”

“How did you know?”

“I had a feeling, at first. Then he told me, in confidence. He’s dead now and I assume his secret is safe with you. Naturally, I wouldn’t dare to say it even to myself while he was alive. He didn’t want people to know, and for a very good reason. Being public about it got people killed.”

Hermione shook her head.

“And did he have any relationships? Or he just hid his entire life?”

“He hid. He has hinted at an old lover and that is all know. I’m certain that, when he died, that old lover of his was the only man Dumbledore worked up the courage to touch.”

Severus seemed very grief-stricken by it, which, again, surprised Hermione. She didn’t think him to be empathetic towards that, though it made sense. He was close to Dumbledore, even if they weren’t friends, exactly.

Close enough that he knew Dumbledore was gay, a secret the Headmaster took to his grave.

Hermione felt like tearing up, almost.

“How sad is that? And here was I worrying over telling Harry about dating you! No one is going to kill me for that.”

Severus held Hermione tight. The gears of her mind kept turning, and she said, against his chest:

“Is this why you didn’t worry about it all? Because you know some people have it much worse?”

“Maybe it was.” he replied.

“I was being stupid earlier, wasn’t I?”

He kissed the top of her head.

“You’re not stupid, darling. Potter could disapprove and sever ties, and you care about him, for example. But… Yes, you aren’t going to die over it. Which, I suppose, is a small comfort about dating me, if nothing else.”

Hermione slapped his arm.

“Shut it. And yes, I’m very happy that Harry didn’t think too much of it. I suppose we are all dating people we weren’t supposed to for stupid reasons. Everyone thought he was going to be with Ginny forever. Then he didn’t.”

“Lovegood is a gem.” Severus said, amused. “I know more about Wrackspurts now that I could ever care to.”

Hermione lifted her head to close the distance between their lips, and what was an innocent peck turned into a deep, very French kiss, with Severus on top of her.

“Are you up for a walk?” he asked.

“It’s almost one in the morning.”

“I hear there is a twenty-four hours pharmacy eleven blocks away from here.”

“Oh.” Hermione exclaimed, understanding what he was getting at. “I guess I am up for some exercise, after all.”

Severus stood up and offered a hand so Hermione could get up as well. It was a long walk, in the middle of the evening, but with her arm linked with his, she saw the first snowflakes of the season falling on the empty streets, and the fresh snow never looked better to her eyes.

“Have you ever dyed your hair?” she asked while they walked.

“Never attempted to. Raven black is a hard color to catch on grey hair.” Severus replied. “Or so I hypothesize.”

“Don’t you want to try?”

“Why is that now?”

“It’s going to be embarrassing walking into a pharmacy at one in the morning only to get condoms. And your hickey is showing.”

“We can also buy some lubricant, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Oh my God.”


	19. Chapter Eighteen

First thing Hermione did when she arrived was to throw the overnight bag aside and wrap her legs around Severus’ waist. Their schedules conflicted and it went by over a week without them seeing each other…

And so there was quite a bit to catch up on.

A common misconception about single people is that they have sex a lot because they can have sex with multiple people. Never mind the work it takes to convince them all to do it, or even the luck of meeting all these people in the first.

Surely Hermione didn’t get much of a chance to meet people, spending most of her time alone at home or at work.

Severus closed the door with the hand that wasn’t holding Hermione in place and took her to the bedroom. Good thing he didn’t need to see the way, considering it was his house, for she wasn’t letting him catch a break — and he didn’t want to stop kissing her either.

He put her down softly on the bed and asked, because of course Hermione did not want to talk at that moment:

“My week went fine, thank you for asking.”

She had to laugh as Severus kicked his shoes and climbed on top of her, taking off her heels as he kissed her neck. Her coat was still on, the melting snowflakes wetting the sheets, so he started working on that first and foremost.

Only then Hermione noticed his hands. His black nails.

But she said nothing. She supposed it was a sign he got more comfortable with her, comfortable enough to start being more like himself. She had already noticed he wasn’t a traditionally masculine man, so…

Besides, he had pretty hands, and the black made them seem even more elegant.

Her coat was off, and Severus hiked her skirt so he could sit on his ankles, between her legs, to undo the buttons of her shirt, his lips going from her collarbones to her cleavage as he did so. His fingertips slid underneath her bra, hiking it up as well.

While he teased her nipples with his tongue, the fingers went down, inside her lacy underwear — the flimsiest and most expensive piece of lace Hermione owned.

Hermione kicked into action by then, getting him to kiss her mouth so she could unbutton his shirt and get her hand inside his pants, touching him as he touched her, in synchronized movements, until she came, and Severus stained her skirt with pre-cum.

“Sorry about that. I’ll get it washed before you leave.” he said, in the small break they took so he could set himself up.

Their clothes weren’t even off, as Hermione rocked her hips in circular motions on top of him. She had previously removed the pantyhose she wore to work in the bathroom before leaving so it wouldn’t be in the way.

She put Severus’ hands on her breasts.

“I have to say, your nails look good.”

It was a quickie, more than anything else, to get it out of their system before they could properly interact with each other.

Only after that, Hermione changed into comfortable lounge wear and they ate dinner. When that was done, they laid on the couch, cuddling, which, they knew, was going to turn back into sex as soon as their dinner was settled on their stomach.

Didn’t take long.

Severus was about to slither his fingers inside Hermione’s pajama shorts when her cellphone ringed, distant, inside the bag on the bedroom. Not that it stopped Severus.

“Must be my parents.” Hermione said, getting away from him and standing. “Sorry, I have to get it.”

She had a landline and a cellphone, in case her parents wanted to be in touch with her and she wasn’t home. Whenever she went to spend the night or even the weekend at Severus’ house, it was an essential item on her bag.

Not that her parents ever happened to call during those times, but just in case.

“Hi, mom.” Hermione returned to her previous spot in Severus’ arms with her phone on her ear. “I hope you’ve had a pleasant week.”

“Hello, darling. Your father and I did have a good week. We were wondering what your plans for Christmas holidays were.”

“Oh, I… I don’t have any plans.”

Could be the hesitation on her voice, or the fact her mother had to call her cellphone to get ahold of her on a Friday night, that her mother picked up on the lie: Hermione had preemptive plans with Severus. They didn’t discuss it, but he had no family or very close friends.

He did have a girlfriend, though, which happened to be Hermione. So she wanted to be with him.

“Are you sure? Haven’t you made plans with someone else?”

Severus smirked at the reply, silently eavesdropping the conversation.

“I am, in fact, dating someone who I’d like to spend Christmas with. If that’s what you’re asking.”

“Well, ask him to come too! Your dad and I are going to do the same we do every year, just a small dinner between us, so it won’t be too embarrassing. Your aunts decided not to come to London after all.”

Hermione’s mother had two sisters who still lived in Nigeria. Every couple of years they came around and stayed for a few weeks, one or two of which were spent on London.

“Which is a shame, we all would like to meet this miraculous man who tied you down.”

“ _Mom_!” Hermione chided, and Severus held back a laugh.

“I’m kidding, sweetie. I’m just saying your new boyfriend will be welcome. I’d like to know him, give you my appraisal.”

She had called it Ron and Hermione wouldn’t last very long. Right after the war, Hermione spent a rough couple of years trying to recover her parents’ memories, and graduating from Hogwarts officially, all of which Ron helped with nothing.

Hermione was curious what her mother would say about Severus, indeed, not that she’d listen if told to break up.

“I’ll ask him about it. And… I have to go.”

“Of course. Tell mystery man I said hi.”

“Hermione.” Said Severus, once the phone call was over. “Won’t they know I was your teacher? Besides the fact I am and look old enough to be your father.”

Hermione sighed.

“I suppose there are a few things about me I haven’t told you either…”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact I obliviated my parents.”


	20. Chapter Nineteen

“It might be better for me not to go.” Severus said, though he was fully dressed on Hermione’s living room.

“My parents aren’t going to remember you. Even if I _hadn’t_ obliviated my parents, the chances were they wouldn’t connect Professor Snape to you. They knew of a certain Professor Snape who taught me Potions, but I rarely spoke of you to them.”

“It isn’t just that.”

“And why else would you be afraid?”

“I’m afraid they’ll find me… Strange.”

“How so?” Hermione asked, though she had a hint of what he was talking about.

Knowing him only as Professor Snape, and being an oblivious young girl, she thought nothing of him was strange aside from the urge to abuse his students and everyone around him. But he wasn’t being himself.

He was indeed a strange sight, in his silver shoulder-length hair, all black muggle clothes, with the clothing itself being worthy of notice for a man his age. Or a man at all. He dressed with a certain flair: it was hard to pick that up when all wizard robes had some degree of flair to them, but in muggle clothes, it stuck out.

The tight pants, the loose button up shirt, untucked. The boots. Funny, though: they were the muggle equivalent of his wizard robes, with the well-fitted pants, the billowing cloak, the frock coat with the dramatic sleeves.

But he couldn’t wear a cloak to a muggle dinner, so the loose shirt would have to do.

“I should take off the polish, at least.” He said, redirecting the subject.

“Oh, don’t bother. If that’s how you like to dress, that’s how you like to dress. I wish I had your guts to go out dressing exactly as I like to be dressed. I’d be going everywhere in sweatpants.”

“You look lovely in sweatpants, sweetheart.”

“And you look lovely now.”

“That is… The problem.” he pointed out, hesitantly.

“Well, maybe lovely isn’t what most straight men would want to be called, but… It doesn’t matter. You clearly don’t care about those things, I don’t either, and neither will my parents.”

Severus seemed as if he was about to say something, then changed his mind. He averted his gaze, his fingers fidgeting as they did when he was nervous. Hermione reached out to him, entwining her fingers on the back of his neck and looking up to him.

“It’ll be fine.”

“Will it?”

“Well, I didn’t listen my parents about Ron, so I won’t listen about you. Especially if they are going to complain about… This. You’ve always been this way, now that I think back. I wouldn’t be a good fit for you if I wanted you to change anything or hide it. I… I love you, just as you are.”

Hermione closed her mouth, her heart racing. She never said she loved him, and he never said it, either; and she didn’t realize it could be a big thing until it slipped out of her lips, as naturally as if she were asking him how his day went.

“I love you, too.” He said, quietly, embracing her waist. “I’m sorry I can’t be an open book to you as you are to me.”

“Well, I’ll survive without knowing everything there is to know about you. Even though I’d like to.”

“Quite a few things about me aren’t pretty, as you can guess, so… I’d rather keep it to myself.”

Though Hermione could hear the “for now” hanging in the air, after the end of his sentence. It still bothered her not to know, and she’d love to, because it rather felt like he was keeping from her things from his very present, or that still affected it.

“So are you going or what?” she asked, breaking the moment because she didn’t want to be late — and rivers cut through mountains by biding their time.

“After such strong persuasion…” he replied, jokingly, leaning for a kiss on her lips. “I suppose I will. Telling me you love me for the first time now was a low blow, Granger.”

“I _really_ want you to meet my parents. The only thing I’ll ask of you is not to tell your surname. If they don’t remember you, I’m not going to say anything to them for now. I’ll have to, at some point, but not today. It’s Christmas’ Eve.”

“Sounds perfect.”

With that, they went to the suburbs of London, where Hermione’s parents settled in a two-story house not much unlike their previous one — just smaller, since it was just for the two of them. Though they confided of plans to have or adopt a sibling for Hermione.

It was Hermione’s father who came to get the door, with a wide smile.

“I finally get to meet you, Severus!”

Severus raised a brow to Hermione.

“I called them ahead of time and told them a little about you.” She explained as she led him to the living room, just after the small foyer.

She did so for various reasons. One, to probe if the name Severus would ring any bells — Snape probably would —, two, to let them know he was quite older than her, and three, to ask them not to mention any of his scars. And four, to avoid giving him hugs.

Whenever they were out and about, it wasn’t uncommon for people, complete strangers, to stare or even approach him to ask about the scarring on his neck. And so Hermione thought it was better to prepare her parents for the sight.

“Good things, I hope.”

“Nothing but praise. My name is Florence, by the way.” He offered a large hand for Severus to shake.

They looked opposite of each other. Florence was large, and round, all obtuse angles. Hermione took after his uptight, fastidious personality, though nothing of his physique.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Severus said, and sounded like he meant it, as well.

“And mine is Aretta, since we are all making introductions.” What Hermione took from her mother’s were the looks: they were both petite women with wild hair, though Hermione’s ringlets fell a bit looser, and her skin was lighter. They had the same almond-shaped eyes and full lips.

Hermione had none of her hospitable personality, or so she felt most of the times.

“I hope you feel at home here, Severus. I hear you’ve been making my Hermione pretty happy these days.” Aretta went on.

“I’ve been trying my best.”

“Well, sit down while Hermione and I will set up the table. I hope you’re ready for Flo’s interrogation.” Aretta said with a laugh.

Hermione was going to protest when Severus said:

“Let me help with the table. I’m sure Hermione would rather catch up with her father.”

“Ha. You’re smart. I see why she likes you now.”


	21. Chapter Twenty

It wasn’t a too merry of a Christmas to Hermione. She barely ate anything, a knot growing on her stomach with each passing minute.

Severus didn’t quite realize his secrecy was making his past a burden much heavier than what it needed to be. However smart he was, his feelings got the better of him, be it anger, be it shame. He was ashamed of what he did and dare not say it, but…

It didn’t look good for him not to say anything either.

Maybe not to Hermione, not anymore, because she came to love him. What of her parents? They couldn’t keep up omitting Severus’ identity forever. She didn’t even want to. But what could she say to her parents about his past?

And… Couldn’t she be wrong? Couldn’t she be blind because she fell in love? Like Severus, she wasn’t above her own feelings either.

To her, it rather felt like he didn’t become a Death Eater out of nowhere, just because he wanted to, however it could be mere wishful thinking.

Perhaps all of that wouldn’t be much of a bother to her that particular night if her mother didn’t look suspicious of something. Her father couldn’t tell, and Severus couldn’t either, but Hermione could. Whatever they talked about when they were setting up the table set off her mother about him.

Hermione caught her watching him when he wasn’t looking, her gaze analytical.

It seemed unlikely for Severus to slip up — he spent the entire night making it seem as if he had worked on the Ministry forever —, but the omission only worked if her parents didn’t remember at all.

Other than that, the dinner went as normal as it could possibly have, with her parents retelling all embarrassing childhood stories they could remember, which made up for a great majority of them. Severus was perfectly pleasant and seemed invested in making a good impression.

Hermione’s father fell for it, at least.

“Time for dessert, I think. Mione, come help me in the kitchen to serve the pie.” Aretta said, standing up from the table with the remainders of a Christmas’ dinner.

In any other occasion, Hermione would protest, though she realized the veiled intent of having a moment of privacy. The official dining room was distant enough from the kitchen that they could talk there without being listened to, as long as they didn’t shout to one another.

“Sure.”

She went away with a kiss on Severus’ forehead and went, her heart drumming against her ribcage.

“Well, I’m going to cut to the chase here since I know you know I’m not entirely convinced.” Aretta said and Hermione held her breath.

“Entirely convinced about what?”

She wasn’t going to spill the beans unless there was no other choice.

“Honey, he’s using you.” Her mother said very naturally as she took out a generous pie out of the fridge and set it on top of the kitchen island.

“Wh… what makes you think that? Is it because he’s older?”

“It’s because he’s gay. Didn’t you notice?”

“Mom, he’s not gay.” Hermione said, trying not to look so very relieved over that being her mother’s problem with Severus.

“Maybe he doesn’t know he is. I’m just telling you to avoid heartbreak later. I can see how much you care. To be honest, he seems to care a lot about you, too.”

“He’s just… Not. But I don’t want to get too detailed in my defense.”

Aretta laughed, slicing four perfect pieces out of the cinnamon sugar pie she always made on Christmas’ Eve.

“So you two have sex?”

Hermione wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it out loud to her mother, so she just nodded positively.

“Color me surprised, then. He’s very… Modern.” Aretta was doing all the setting up, in the meantime. She picked up the dessert places and transferred the slices of pie over to them. “I was asking him what he does with his cuticles when we were setting up the table. How did you find a forty something man like that?”

“I’m not sure. He’s always been this way, as far as I know. Doesn’t mean he’s gay.”

“You can convince me he’s not gay…” said Aretta, finally. “But you can’t convince me he’s heterosexual.”

“And so what if he isn’t?”  Hermione replied, feeling like a fool for not have thought about it before.

The observation took her back to where they first started dating, the day they went to the supermarket. When he said her former hook-up was handsome, and remarked men usually weren’t be both handsome and smart. Hermione didn’t pick it up that maybe he could be speaking from experience.

And his interest on knowing what happened to Ginny.

And knowing Dumbledore was gay.

And that picture clearly taken by a lover in a box full of letters from a certain Italian _man_.

And the way he seemed about to argue when Hermione said most straight men wouldn’t want to be thought of as lovely.

Severus didn’t want to say it, but he hadn’t been exactly hiding, either. He omitted it, and let Hermione thought of him as she wanted to. As he was doing with her parents. Though it also became clear he planned on being honest about it soon enough.

So _that_ was what he was on the edge of telling, not the reason why he became a Death Eater…

Well. One thing at a time.

“I don’t know. I don’t have a problem. I don’t think your father has, either. Who cares if he played the field before if he’s making you happy now?”

Hermione nodded.

“Well, it might be stupid of me, but I love him.”

“I can see that you do, and I don’t think it’s stupid, darling.”

Hermione approached Aretta and they shared a tight hug.

“So I have your blessing with this one?”

“If he _does_ like women…” jested Hermione’s mother. “Then yes. I did bless you with Ron, too. I just didn’t think you were going to last.”


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

Hermione laid her head on Severus’ shoulder, watching the snowflakes fly by the car window. They decided for a cab on their way back because the hike to a place where they could apparate was quite long, in an open suburb without back alleys.

It was late, and cold, and at least Hermione was sleepy. She knew then Severus didn’t quite feel sleepy due to his sleeping issues, though he must be worn out from all the social interaction with people who weren’t already acquainted with him.

“And what was your mother’s report on me?” he asked. “When you two were talking in the kitchen?”

“She liked you.”

“That’s surprising. I thought it was going to be a disaster, considering I’m nearly forty-eight and never done this before.”

“Being introduced to parents? Have you never been in a serious relationship?”

“I have been in relationships. Unusual, fleeting ones. For _several_ good reasons.” Severus replied. “It’s good that your mother liked me. I do intend to keep you.”

“Keep me?” Hermione retorted, trying to keep her face straight while she sat up to shoot him a questioning look.

“Forgive me, I mean staying with you.”

Hermione laid her head back on his shoulder.

 “That sounds better.”

They couldn’t talk much, not with a muggle man within ear shot. But the ride to Hermione’s ride was long, especially with the snow, and many thoughts ran through her head. Most of which she found wiser to keep to herself for the time being, however there were some left that she felt confident in bringing up.

“But did you fall in love in the meantime? You know, after…” Lily’s death. Hermione didn’t need to say it for him to pick it up.

Severus sighed and eyed the cab driver. Discretely, he murmured an enchantment and the man shook his head.

“Do you hear this?” he asked, a bit too loud. Hermione shook her head no. “There’s some buzz in my ear. I’m sure it’ll pass.”

“Muffliato charm.” Severus explained to her in a low tone. “He won’t listen if we speak quietly.”

“Oh. You improved it.”

Severus gave a shrug.

“I had too much free time before you came around.”

“So what you were going to say?”

“I was going to say that the memories Potter saw give… A wrong impression of me. I see that now. Even if Skeeter hadn’t written a sensationalistic story over it…” A pause. “Though even now I don’t see how I could have explained myself through memories without derailing. Besides, everything is much clearer when observed in hindsight.”

He made silence again, and Hermione waited, because she could tell he was about to say something important.

“I wasn’t even aware I was in love with her back then. Not fully, anyway. It only hit me when I heard she was in danger, and even then, my commitment to saving her life came moreso out of guilt and obligation than the desire of maybe having her for myself. I wanted to do the right thing and she became the motivation I needed to stand working with Dumbledore and, later on, the Order of the Phoenix.” He said with a sigh. “Not asking him to save Potter too right away was a mistake on my part, but I must say, I couldn’t care less if his father died.”

Hermione bit her lower lip. Severus was way more even-tempered and less bitter than he used to be — or made himself look like —, but his dislike for James Potter remained, while his opinion on Harry changed dramatically.

It seemed a bit too extreme for a schoolyard rivalry, then again… Hermione didn’t know the whole story on that front, either.

“How come you didn’t know you were in love with Lily?”

“I didn’t. I couldn’t tell my feelings apart when I was a teenager. If I could, I would have ended the friendship instead of calling her a mudblood. I… Was angry at her, progressively moreso.”

“Why?”

“She came to like Potter around that time. I couldn’t tell my feelings, but I could tell hers. I couldn’t forgive her. I suppose… I still can’t.”

Hermione became increasingly puzzled by way Severus put things. The crux of the mystery seemed to rely on his distaste for James, but…

“Why do you dislike James so much?”

He scowled at hearing Hermione using James’ first name. He looked away, to the window, and pursed his lips in a sneer she hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“It does look like I’m being irrational.” he relented. “Holding on to a school grudge for however many years it has been. Thirty? More than that.”

“I don’t think you’re being irrational. I just don’t think you’re telling the whole story.”

“Nothing goes past you.”

Hermione sat again and held the hand that was resting on top of his thigh, balled up in a fist, which loosened under her touch.

“I’m sorry. It is a very difficult topic for reasons you cannot fathom.”

“I think… I have a clue on why. Did he pick on you because he thought you were gay?”

Well, part of being a Law Enforcement employee was to put two and two together to make it a four. Her mother picked that up… And Severus was concerned about it before the dinner. So maybe he had experience with it.

Severus sighed, entwining his fingers with Hermione’s, though his gaze was still turned to the streets passing by the car window.

“Yes. I didn’t go around with nails painted, but… My only friend was a girl and I was raised solely by my mother. Maybe now, in 2007, I’m not as out of the norm as man, however that all happened thirty years ago. My father used to scold my mother for braiding my hair because he was afraid of me turning into a faggot. His words. Well, he was wrong. And Potter was wrong…”

There was a but hanging in the air.

“But you’re not straight either, are you?” Hermione asked, tactfully.

“I suppose, my love, the word for what I am is bisexual.”


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

The conversation wasn’t over yet, though it would have to continue later. Severus’ palms were sweaty, and after Hermione leaned in for a quick kiss and snuggled against him, she felt his rapid heartbeat even through the layers of clothing.

He had been nervous to say it.

And Hermione supposed her silence didn’t spell out what she thought about it.

“It doesn’t change anything. I shouldn’t have assumed you were straight in the first place so that you’ve had to tell me you aren’t. I need to stop doing that.”

He pulled her closer and kissed her cheek.

“What tipped you off?”

“My mother thought you are gay.”

Severus laughed, a laughter that started deep within his belly. A genuine laugh.

“She’s not entirely wrong.”

He then muttered an enchantment to undo the Muffliato charm on the cab driver. It wasn’t very safe for the driver not to be able to hear well. Besides, Severus clearly was done with that subject for the night.

Hermione was fine with that, so resumed her leaning her head on his shoulder as he drew circles on her arms with his fingertips, both silent on the rest of the way to her building. They were equally silent as they made it inside and took off their outer layers of clothing.

Then Severus wrapped his arms around her waist, from behind, resting his lips on the curve of her neck.

“I love you,” he said, for the second time that day.

“You are just saying this to get into my pants.” Hermione jested, for she could feel his cock at half-mast against her bottom.

“How dare you.” Severus replied, jokingly offended, as he picked her up to take her to the bedroom.

Tangled together, they dropped into bed and he went on top.

“I love you, too.” Hermione said to him when he gave her a break to catch her breath from his demanding kisses. “Even though you’re a brute.”

“I’m the brute? You do know my back is still marked by your little claws from _last week_.”

“It’s not my fault you’re white as a sheet of paper.”

Her tone of retort would definitely get Gryffindor to lose fifty points a few years back, but right then all Severus did to her was to probe with his fingers how wet and soft Hermione was. She chose to wear thigh high stockings with a garter belt just because she learned coming home with Severus while wearing a pantyhose meant extra work and extra fumbling around.

While he did so, Hermione unbuttoned his shirt, bucking her hips against his hand, each breath growing shallower than the last. When all the buttons were done for, he stood up to take it off and go to the bedside drawer for a condom.

Hermione laid with her stomach down, her head propped by a hand. In the dim light, she saw the bright pink scratches on his back.

Oops.

On his way back, he kicked off his shoes, and also picked a pillow to place under Hermione’s hips.

“Let me get you comfortable.” He said. “You’ll be here for a while.”

She sure hoped so, and stretched, relaxed, as she felt him straddle her, undoing his pants and opening the foil packet. He could do it fast and with a hand tied on his back, yet he took his sweet time, because he knew she was hopefully waiting.

He put her underwear aside and slipped inside, one hand on her ass, the other find its way to her clit. By then Severus knew very well how to please Hermione the best… And how to tease her until she reached the edge of begging, wanting for his gentle touch to put on a little more pressure.

Hermione indeed stayed face down on her mattress for quite the while that night, so much that, when it was over, Severus looked over at the watch beside the bed, marking five twenty in the morning, he said:

“Do you want your Christmas gift now, considering it is Christmas’ morning, or do you want to sleep first?”

He seemed tired — of course — but not at all sleepy. It’d be one of these days only a sleeping potion could knock him out.

“Maybe getting a gift will make me sleep better.” Hermione said, yawning after that.

She’d pass out soon enough. Severus put on his boxers, a random t-shirt, and left the room; Hermione took the chance to get his gift, hidden inside her wardrobe. She saw it on a shopping window and thought it seemed like something he’d like to wear — but somehow didn’t own any.

The parcel he came back with was small, and discreet, though tastefully decorated with a ribbon. Hermione was waiting for him, with his shirt from the night before, and her much bigger parcel.

Severus raised a brow while he approached her.

“What on earth did you get me?”

A black leather jacket. A more grown-up version of one, anyway. He held it in from of him and gave Hermione an approving nod.

“I didn’t know how come I don’t already have one.”

“Because you were waiting for me to gift you.” Hermione replied, opening her little box.

It was a pendant on a golden necklace. The pendant was an amethyst, heart-shaped, a delicate jewel she could wear everywhere and remember who gave it to her always.

“I love it.” Hermione said, studying the jewel on her neck after he closed the clasp.

Severus held her close.

“And I love you. Let’s go to sleep.”

He must have taken half his dose, because Hermione woke up to the smell of food coming to the kitchen. Coffee, and oatmeal, and cinnamon.

Severus sipped on his coffee while stirring an oatmeal surely meant for Hermione to eat. She hugged him from behind.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, love. Even though it is half past noon.”

“Shut up.”

Despite having enough chairs in the apartment, Hermione chose his lap to sit on while she ate her breakfast by the table, watching the weather outside while Severus peppered her shoulders with kisses in between coffee sips.

“You’ve been wanting to know all this time why I became a Death Eater.” he said, which got her full attention.

“I have.” She confessed.

Severus sighed.

“I don’t see the point of keeping it to myself now. And I assume that even I don’t tell you anything, you’d be able to guess sooner or later.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“I do want to. All I’m saying is that you know the hardest part already.”

“What would that be?”

“That I like men.” Was his reply. “When my father disowned me on my seventeenth birthday for being queer or a faggot or whichever slur was on the tip of his tongue, I couldn’t quite protest against that.”


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

Hermione turned around to sit facing him, fingers entwined on the back on his neck. His eyes were calm, truly serene. His true secret wasn’t how or when or why he became a Death Eater, after all. But those two things were closely entwined, as she would find out.

“My mother was trying to get me to leave for a while. I assume now that she talked about it with my father, to placate him and to bargain. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have known wizardry adulthood comes around at seventeen years old and not eighteen. Maybe they reached a deal, maybe not, though the bottom line was that my father woke up at four in the morning of my birthday, told me to pack up and leave. He no longer had any obligation towards keeping me alive, since I became an adult, and I could use magic anyway.”

“And your mother?”

Severus sighed and rested his hands on Hermione’s hips.

“You have to understand how young she was when they met. How many years she spent under his thumb by that point. She did nothing. She didn’t know she could. Besides, back then… She couldn’t really leave. He had snapped her wand a couple of years prior and despite being a muggle, he’d kill her. But he’d gladly leave me alone if I left.”

“What did you do?”

“I did the only thing I thought I could do at that time. I reached out to Lucius Malfoy. His help came with a heavy price, of course. My soul, for a roof over my head and a plate of food. I knew this when I knocked at his door, and I did it anyway.”

Hermione was about to say something, but Severus cut her off:

“No, I could not go to Dumbledore. Sirius Black quite literally attempted against my life and walked out with a swath to his wrist, for the very same reason I got kicked out of home in the first place. Not to mention what Potter did. In case it wasn’t clear, he did take off my pants that day. Do you think schoolyard bullies usually go around depantsing their victims? Why do you think he chose to do that, specifically? He saved my neck, though he wasn’t going to let me get away with what made Black put me in front of Lupin.”

Her breath suspended and Severus went on, smoothly:

“You do remember Regulus Black, his younger brother, do you not?”

Oh. She could see where it was going.

“Sirius Black would never say it out loud. He could never. Perhaps his politics were a bit more empathetic than most rich pureblood people, though not by that much. Regulus and I… Crossed paths a couple of times, and Black knew it because of their map. He blamed me for his brother’s transgression, which is simply absurd. It only happened because it was no secret for anyone in the Slytherin house what I was into, and sometimes… Others reached out. Because I was the only one with enough guts. Well, not guts. Moreso I didn’t have a choice on the matter, especially after Potter made me the favor of spreading it to the four winds that fateful day.”

A long pause.

“If his son had stayed in my memory a couple moments more, he’d know. I… Shouldn’t have thrown a jar at Potter’s head, but I panicked. So there is that.”

Hermione adjusted herself on Severus’ lap, questions and more questions coming at her at light speed. The first one that made its way out of her mouth was:

“Did Lily know?”

“She did. Of course. Come on. She was the first person to ever paint my nails, and she also caught on the habit of braiding my hair. She both knew I got around with other boys and that I was into her. It confused her. It confused _me_. My vocabulary lacked the word bisexual back then, and with so many people telling me I was gay… Frankly I did not see myself with any girl other than Lily, and that the time I interpreted it as pining for someone impossible to kid myself. I got around with boys, and I liked it, and I didn’t want to, because it made me a queer, and a faggot, all of those terrible slurs people threw at me. Not to mention, it made me someone Lily did not quite like.”

“What… What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. She was raised Catholic. Surely she didn’t want to walk away from me because of that, though that made her not want to stick around as much, and in turn I started spending time with my Slytherin classmates more…” A sigh. “Pureblood society isn’t as strict as you’d think. Quite a lot is tolerated if done discretely, behind closed doors. Besides, I am a half-blood. So what if I only had sex with other men? It wasn’t as if my bloodline is worth anything.”

Hermione’s head was spinning, and she bit the insides of her cheek, looking deep into Severus’ eyes. He kept all of it, to himself, for years. Decades.

“I’m so sorry that you had to keep this all to yourself.”

He shook his head.

“I’m telling you now. There is quite a lot more to this story, but I assume you already heard enough for today. To this day I wonder what I could have done differently. If I could have asked for help someplace else. Who would help a poor, queer half-blood?”

Hermione kissed his lips and hugged him tight, fingertips digging into the flesh of his shoulder blades. He smelled of breakfast, and freshly laundered sheets.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” he said. “All of this mess brought me to you, so I can’t say it wasn’t worth it, in the end. How else would we meet again if I didn’t have a scandalous past worth breaking into the Ministry’s archives for?”

When Hermione let go of him, though she was about to cry, he seemed… Happy. Content.

To have someone to share his stories with, finally.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for going MIA! I got sick so I was focusing on not dying. I'll get back at the comments from the last couple of chapters soon enough!

Hermione was proud of herself for coming up with the idea last minute. She had planned to give him a book, however after learning the dark history behind his birthday — the day he got disowned and sealed his fate as a Death Eater — she decided to get flashy with it.

Not that it _looked_ flashy.

Severus had his brow raised, not understanding how an envelope got her jittering in her spot to see his reaction. She even wanted to wait to give it to him later in the evening, however as soon as she changed from her work clothes to the usual loungewear at his place, she wished him a happy birthday and shoved the enveloped in his hands.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” he said as he picked open the package. “I don’t care for my birthday, for… Obvious reasons.”

His brow raised even more when as his eyes scanned the train tickets.

“Oh. You gave me a… Trip.”

“To Paris. This weekend.” she said. “And I’ll be coming too, of course.”

Severus couldn’t react for a moment there. Then he opened his mouth, his fingertips playing with the tickets.

“I’m clearly speechless.”

“How about a hug then?”

Hermione wasn’t concerned by his apparent lack of reaction. Despite his deadpan way of being, what went through his mind became as clear as a summer day over the past four months. He just couldn’t comprehend someone doing that nice to him.

And, well, perhaps it was a too nice of a gift for a four-months-old relationship, though truly it wasn’t about the relationship, but about creating good memories.

He embraced her and the hug was so tight her feet left the floor. She passed her legs around his waist and distanced herself some to look him in the eyes.

“But did you like it?” she asked.

“You’ll spoil me rotten, sweetheart.”

“And what else am I supposed to do?” Hermione replied as he kissed her jawline, then her cheek.

“You do know how to speak French, I hope. I can only speak Italian and even then, I’m quite rusty at it.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll be your faithful guide over the weekend.”

“I’d hope so.”

Hermione slipped back to the floor.

“This is quite the expensive gift for a recent boyfriend.” Severus said. “Why are you doing all this?”

“Because I love you?”

“Which may be highly questionable of you.”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “But… After you told me what happened to you, I figured you needed some new good memories to remember your birthday by.”

Hermione had been very much in love even before he told her anything — otherwise she wouldn’t find it worthy to stick around despite the secrecy over matters that were very important to her.

Knowing, however, changed everything.

Not just about the way Hermione thought of him, either; she never doubted he liked her and was serious about their relationship, though he had his guard up, probably thinking his past was going to come up and they were going to split.

That didn’t happen.

Severus cupped her cheek and kissed her lips, putting the tickets away by the arm of the couch.

Within no time, Hermione would be laid on her couch, her flimsy pajama shorts thrown half-way across the room, with Severus’ head between her legs, his hands squeezing and caressing her breasts.

He wasn’t the only one being spoiled rotten.

The action went into the bedroom, and late into the night.

“Will you tell me about Italy, sometime?” Hermione asked, head laid on his chest after they decided to call it quits for the time being.

Severus snorted.

“You said you’d give an arm to see me in my early twenties.”

“Well, I may have been hyperbolic there. But, yes, I’d like to.”

She’d already seen it; however, she’d take that secret to her grave. She shouldn’t have snooped his things…

“It is your lucky day, then.”

He slipped from underneath the covers and went to pick up the leather case Hermione had partially gone through, in what seemed to be a very long time ago. In his way back, he turned on the lights.

“I’ve kept some memories from my time there. Perhaps because I don’t remember much of it myself.”

Hermione scooted closer to the box and watched him open it, lay out the letters, and the pictures. All of them were polaroids, from Italian sceneries, pictures of him and a quite handsome brunette man around his age, wavy hair falling on his eyes.

“I wasn’t alone there. I lived with this pureblood kid since we both studied with the same mentor. I assume Malfoy put us together so I could better sense the climate among the purebloods in Italy. As well as because this particular pureblood kid had a keen curiosity about muggle technology. This bloody polaroid camera. I was supposed to be a good influence.”

“And you were…”

“Lovers, yes.” Severus picked out that one picture Hermione saw a while back and showed it to her. “I wasn’t looking my best.”

She had to laugh at the observation and sort of agree. He seemed way underweight.

“I had to return to the United Kingdom eventually, and when that happened, we continued to exchange letters. We both knew it wasn’t meant to last. He had an arranged marriage and I had sold my freedom to the Dark Lord.”

His tone had gone quiet, somber.

“What happened to him?”

“He contracted HIV at some point and wasted away. AIDS. You may wonder where all the gay and bisexual men my age are, and the answer is that they likely died. It was the early 80s. No one had made the connection yet. I was the one who advised him to go to a hospital and take the test, quite a few years later… I also feared for myself. I…”

“Didn’t use condoms.”

Severus nodded.

“And shared needles. Everything there was to smoke, snort or shoot up my veins, I did back in Italy. I couldn’t live with myself and my choices and being away from the Dark Lord meant I didn’t have to keep occulting my thoughts.”

“Really?” Hermione said. “You never take more than two glasses of wine now.”

“Well, despite feeling worse about myself after leaking the prophecy, I had to sober up and keep my walls up unless I wanted the Dark Lord to know I had changed sides.”

“And why…”

“Did I leak the prophecy?” He averted his gaze. “The million dollar question.”


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGAIN I'VE BEEN SLACKING GETTING BACK AT THE COMMENTS. yall know I love chatting and replying to each one as early as possible, but, again, I'm still sick and I have an exam coming up.

Hermione waited in silence as Severus went to put the box back in his closet. He returned to bed and embraced her again, swallowing dry.

“It wasn’t my brightest moment,” he started.

She kissed him briefly to let him.

“You don’t really need to tell me.”

“I have to. If this changes your mind about me, then you need to know. I suppose…” A deep breath. “I suppose I’ve always meant to tell you. I realized very soon I’d have to come out to you sooner rather than later, if that somehow made you think of me differently, and with that out of the way…”

Now Hermione could recall several moments in which Severus was about to say something about his bisexuality and kept quiet.

“Again, I’m so sorry for assuming.”

Severus snorted.

“Isn’t it ironic I’m most known in the wizardry world for being heterosexual? I thought I was gay for a good decade there, which brings me to my point. Back then… I was an allegedly gay poor half-blood. Why do you think the Dark Lord would have someone like that in his ranks? Why have me do most of the actual important work?”

“Why?”

“Because no one would miss me. If I did something wrong, or I got caught, if I died… No one would care. My mother, perhaps, but what could she do?” A pause. “When Regulus disappeared, I oversaw the mission of finding him — or his body, or whichever evidence I could find he went away or died on his own. Otherwise, it rather looked like Voldemort sent him to his death, which, for once, he hadn’t. The Black weren’t half as close to him after that… And that was a serious blow. Voldemort had nothing. He had nothing and he was nothing without his rich pureblood followers; he couldn’t go around punishing and killing their heirs.”

“You didn’t find Regulus, though.”

Severus shook his head negatively.

“And I paid for it. The Dark Lord thought Regulus had ran away from his family, and he assumed considering our history I’d be able to get in touch with him and find proof he wasn’t dead, and if he were, it didn’t happen because of a mission. However… I wasn’t as close to him as the Dark Lord thought. I suppose we were both _queers_ …” he sneered. “Though that didn’t make us the best of friends.

“And so… When I overheard the prophecy, and Aberforth caught me listening to it… I knew I’d die if the Dark Lord somehow learned I knew of it and didn’t go to him right away. He wouldn’t hesitate. I was in a point of advantage because no one thought I’d ever be a Death Eater. I may have hung out with all the future Death Eaters in my times as a Hogwarts’ student, and dabbed in Dark Arts, however no one thought I’d be wanted within the actual Death Eaters. But I was a dime a dozen, and even people with no connection to Death Eaters or Dark Arts or pureblood supremacy turned out to be loyal to the Dark Lord, in the end.”

“Like Pettigrew.”

“Precisely. I learned, at that moment, I wasn’t half as suicidal as I fancied myself to be. By then, I already had mastered Occlumency. Sure, I was tolerated, but I wasn’t accepted, and, I should remind you, I lived in the Malfoy Manor for almost a year. I didn’t want the Dark Lord to be able to go through my memories, especially the more private ones. He would, if he could. He’d taunt me. Still, I was seen by other people, that night, and I didn’t want to risk it. I was a coward, nothing else.”

“You still turned when you learned Lily was in danger.”

“How much selflessness is in that? I had been in love with her. Merlin, after I realized it, I thought I’d be in love with her _always_. Perhaps I didn’t have any intentions of ever being with her, or even seeing her again, but… Turning sides at first was as selfish as leaking the prophecy. I couldn’t stand Dumbledore. I thought, and still do, the Order of the Phoenix was rotten.”

Hermione said nothing for a while.

“Why do you think Dumbledore acted the way he did towards you as a student? That’s bizarre. He was gay, as you’ve said. Why would he let other students get away with harassing you for it? Even though you weren’t actually gay.”

“Well, I liked men and looked somewhat like the stereotype, so that was enough for them.” Severus replied. “Why did Tom Riddle become Voldemort even though he was a poor half-blood like me? Because he hated himself. As did Dumbledore. I must say I’m not quite as angry at Dumbledore as I used to. He was much older than I am, and even _I_ grew up to hate myself for liking men. I was taught it was wrong, immoral and once the AIDS crisis rolled about, I heard it was God-given punishment. Besides… He didn’t want to alienate rich pureblood families, much like the Dark Lord as well, I should say, and so…”

Severus’ voice trailed off. His fingers drew circles on Hermione’s shoulder. Then he spoke again:

“Rita Skeeter missed the proper juicy bits of my biography by not bothering to do any research.”

He said that with a dry laughter.

“I don’t think any of this information is easy to find.”

“Come on, not all of my classmates are dead. Ask anyone still alive and they’ll tell about the time a faggot was depantsed in front of everyone. I wasn’t always world-famous for being straight. Quite the contrary. Avery and Mulciber maybe would even sell the whole history to spite me. And maybe they will.”

“Aren’t you concerned about that possibility?”

“I think everyone is very satisfied with my story as Rita Skeeter — and I — made it seem to bother digging deeper. Isn’t it quite the tragic love story?”

Hermione had to agree.

“It is.”

“I prefer ours, though.” A dramatic beat. "I actually get laid."

"Severus, oh my God."


	27. Epilogue

_A year and a half later, Italy_

“Took me long enough.” Severus said, placing a bouquet of flowers on the grave where the remains of a certain Eugenio Labriola rested for eternity.

Hermione adjusted her summer hat. They had spent the summer travelling through Europe, enjoying the warm weather and beaches. Of course, Italy was part of the route, and Severus had tentatively asked if she minded if he went away for a day to visit his former lover’s grave, on a wizardry village not too far off the small town by the ocean they decided to spend the rest of their days in Italian grounds.

“You never came to visit him before?”

Severus stood up and overlooked the graveyard. In a hill a couple of miles away, a manor stuck out from the smaller buildings of the village.

“It could have been me to die this way. Wasting away before getting the chance of… Living. Though, to be fair, it could be that he’d kill himself if AIDS hadn’t gotten to him first. It is what we tried to do during the time we spent together. Passing out from overdose and not waking up seemed like heaven for both of us.”

Hermione wrapped his arms around his waist. He wanted to go alone, at first, because he thought she’d find rude or inappropriate to do such a visit alongside her — as if she’d be jealous.

If Ron dropped dead, for sure she’d like to visit his grave, too, and it would be nice to have support. Or that was how she put the situation, so Severus would accept her company.

“Well, you’re here.”

“I didn’t think I’d get to live this long.” He said, passing an arm on her shoulders. “Or be this happy. Or be myself, truly.”

They said nothing to each other for a long moment. Severus was the one to break the silence:

“Let’s go back to the hotel.”

The town was beautiful in the early evenings. Shades of pink, orange and purple colored the sky, washing the streets and houses in a gentle orange hue. Severus and Hermione walked together, fingers entwined, not rushing to get back to their provisional home, a suite in a hotel that wasn’t much more than a huge family house turned business.

They ordered room service upon their arrival, and laid down on the recliner in the balcony, overlooking the seaside, legs and arms knotted together.

“Do me a favor, love.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t die before I do. I survived the last couple of times because I was young and never truly together with any of them. This time around I may not have the liver function or the sanity to go through this kind of grief again.” He said. “Even if it was for the first time. Merlin.”

Hermione sat up, watching him curiously.

They were dating for quite the while, almost a couple of years, yet no long-term plans had been made. Not that it bothered her. Time just had passed in a whirl of sleeping over at each other’s houses and making plans for the next vacations.

Hermione’s career was flourishing, and she had too much to concern herself with to worry if her perfectly happy relationship wasn’t moving forward fast enough. They loved each other; the future would figure itself out.

Though that was the first time Severus talked about the relationship as if it’d last until one of them died.

Him, probably.

“Did I just give myself away?” he asked, raising a brow.

“Give yourself away? What are you scheming?”

He sighed.

“I kept waiting for the right moment, but… I suppose this one is as good as any other.”

Severus sat up, digging out from the front pocket of his pants a deep red velvet ring box. Surely he enchanted the pocket to make it larger on the inside, for Hermione could never guess he’d been carrying a ring box around the entire time.

She bit her lower lip.

Sure, she wasn’t much of a romantic, but… It’d be nice to marry. It’d be nice to marry Severus, specifically.

He flipped the lid open and the ring was a delicate amethyst solitary, matching the necklace Hermione never took off ever since that Christmas’ morning. Diamonds were the more obvious choice, but he wasn’t obvious.

Hermione never suspected he planned on doing any of it.

“Would you, by any chance, like to marry me? Even though you’ll for sure be a widow for a while?”

“Well, leave it to me to worry about this when the time comes.” Hermione said and leaned over to kiss him. “For now…”

“Am I hearing a yes?”

“Obviously.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand it's over!! Thank you so much for all the views, lovely comments and kudos!


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